


We Should Get Jerseys

by castiowl



Series: We Should Get Jerseys [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Artist Steve Rogers, Awkwardness, Barista Bucky Barnes, Breaking and Entering, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Darcy Lewis Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Pietro Maximoff Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Cats, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, College, Comic Book Artist Steve Rogers, Craigslist, Dinner Parties, Disabled Bucky Barnes, Doppelganger, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exorcisms, Family Drama, Fate, Flirting, Fluff, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Haunted Swords, Haunting, Humor, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Minor Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Misunderstandings, NaNoWriMo, Near Death Experiences, Neighbors, Old Peggy Carter, POV Bucky Barnes, Panic Attacks, Party, Possession, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reincarnation, SHIELD, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Secret Organizations, Self-Esteem Issues, Social Anxiety, Speeches, Spells & Enchantments, Spirits, Starbucks, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Student Bucky Barnes, Student Steve Rogers, Summoning Circles, Supernatural Elements, TA Bucky Barnes, Trauma, Witches, seances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 73,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's attempt to make it through another semester of grad school is greatly hindered when he accidentally buys a haunted sword off Craigslist from Steve Rogers, resident hermit. Find within: knitting clubs, ghosts, baristas, secret organizations, and weekly dinner parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky groaned and turned over. He was laying on a hard surface and it cut into his back. His stomach roiled uncomfortably as a wave of nausea hit him full-force. He groaned again.

An answering grunt sounded from a few feet away that sounded an awful lot like Clint. Bucky managed to pry his eyes open a fraction of an inch and immediately regretted it. The light coming in from his living room window was blinding and made his head pound horrifically. He caught a glimpse of Clint on the couch, face buried in one of their pillows. He prayed Clint hadn’t drooled.

Bucky was able to determine he was laying on the hardwood floor right next to the couch. How Clint had convinced him to do that was a mystery because even drunk Bucky had standards. Granted, those standards tended to be criminally low.

Bucky threw out a hand and hit Clint in the side. He grunted a reply and when Bucky started jabbing him with a finger, he swatted at him.

Bucky chuckled and then blanched. Without a moment to spare, he scrambled to his feet and ran half-blind to the bathroom where he emptied the contents of his alcohol-filled stomach into the toilet.

He reappeared 20 minutes later feeling exhausted and with a pounding headache, but still marginally better than before. Clint was up and walking around in the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee while rifling through the pantry. He pulled out a box of Corn Pops, sniffed them, shrugged, and took a seat at the kitchen table while the coffee machine beeped and started filling up the pot.

“God, how can you eat?” Bucky asked, sitting heavily across from Clint. He put his right arm on the table and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. His left arm was missing up to the shoulder and Bucky rolled it to get rid of some of the residual pain left over from sleeping on the hardwood floor.

Clint shook the cereal box loudly by Bucky’s ear. “You’ll feel better,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Bucky brought his head up to glare at him. “I doubt that highly.”

Clint gave Bucky an innocent look and shook the box again imploringly. Bucky sighed and took the box reluctantly. He grabbed a handful of sticky, sweet cereal. The smell almost made him gag.

The coffee machine beeped. That, at least, Bucky knew he could stomach. He dropped the handful of cereal back into the box and wiped his hand on his jeans. He got up and poured two cups, handing one to Clint who grunted his thanks.

“God, how do you do this so regularly?” Bucky asked, sitting at the table again. The coffee was too hot to drink, but that didn’t stop Bucky from trying, burning his tongue in the process.

“Practice,” Clint said. He took a giant swallow of coffee, which must have hurt and yet he didn’t even grimace. 

“We’re gonna need another pot of coffee,” Bucky said.

“You work at a coffeeshop,” Clint pointed out. “Don’t you get, like, infinite coffee?”

Bucky shook his head slowly, then froze. Shit. _Work_. He jumped to his feet and ran over to the couch. He dug around the cushions, checked under the coffee table and the couch until his hand finally landed on his phone lodged underneath a leg of the coffee table. The screen was miraculously unbroken. The battery was dangerously low and lasted just long enough to show him he’d missed four calls from work and a myriad of text messages. The screen went black.

“I’m gonna get fired,” Bucky said and sat heavily on the couch. “How’d you let me do this?” 

Clint scoffed. “Okay, two things, man. One, I did _not_ make you drink seven jägerbombs in a row. If I remember correctly – which I’m starting to think I remember a whole lot more than you do – you told me if I tried to stop you, you’d,” Clint made a disgruntled face which Bucky knew to be Clint’s impression of him, “piss in my mouth while I slept. And I was not about that, so I let you decimate those jägerbombs. Which was super impressive, by the way.”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but Clint immediately cut him off: “Two, this is your last weekend of freedom and I was not going to let you waste it away.”

Bucky’s stomach clenched and this time it had nothing to do with his hangover. He started his Master’s program on Monday and he hadn’t bought any books, looked over any of the syllabi his various professors had been sending via e-mail, or talked to his work about the fact that he was going to have to cut back on hours.

The prospect of him keeping his job suddenly got exponentially lower.

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” Bucky threatened weakly. He made his way back into the kitchen and scrounged through the junk drawer until he found a disused cell phone charger. He quickly plugged his phone in. He almost didn’t want to know what time it was, but he forced himself to look at the oven clock. 2:10. He was two hours late for work, but hopefully he could talk himself out of it. After all, he’d never been late before. And in spite of his disgruntled appearance, he was great with people. They’d miss him if he were gone, he attempted to convince himself. It didn’t work.

“If I lose my job, I’m holding it against you. I’m kicking you out of the apartment.”

“Can’t,” Clint reminded him. “I own the building.”

Bucky waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way.”

Clint snorted a laugh. “Right, well, let me know how that works out for you. In the meantime, I’ll be in the shower.” With that, he got up and disappeared into his bedroom.

Bucky’s phone powered on a few minutes later and he was able to field the worried text messages from co-workers and call his work. His boss was exceptionally forgiving and asked that Bucky come in as soon as possible. Now that he was in the clear, it sort of made sense; Tony was notoriously late for work and as a regional manager, he probably had to give some leeway to his employees.

Bucky made his way into his bedroom while he typed out a reply to Thor who had, for whatever reason, assumed Bucky had been transported into another realm since that was “the only feasible possibility given his infallible attendance record”. Bucky still wasn’t sure if Thor’s manner of speech was a long con and he was really just an asshole. So far, Bucky hadn’t found any evidence that said Thor was yanking his chain, but he’d only worked at that particular Starbucks for four months after transferring from the one closer to the university. The move had been both convenient (the new Starbucks was a block away from his apartment) and prosperous (he was promoted to shift manager, which allotted him more flexible hours and 11 dollars an hour to boot). Thor had just been an added bonus. The guy was relentlessly cheerful. He was also more than happy to let Bucky have notes, books, and even previous years' tests because he was only a year ahead of Bucky in the teaching program at the university.

Bucky plugged his phone into the charger by his bed and undressed to take a shower. 

He was pulling on his prosthesis – a plastic thing that reminded him too much of a mannequin – when his phone chimed. He opened it and saw it was a new e-mail. Anxiety squeezed his heart for a short moment as he imagined another syllabus, but it turned out to be from someone else. He almost reported it as spam because the address said Craigslist, but then the subject line caught his attention: 

ITEM #4552674 Sword For sale WARNING might be haunted - $150

He opened it and read the message from who was presumably the seller: “Great! Any particular time you want to pick it up? I’ll be around tomorrow from 2 to 4 or Sunday I’ll be here all day. Just let me know.”

Bucky scrolled down and found, to his dismay, that a drunken version of himself had written, “Fuuuuuuck yes holy shit yeah I can come get it whenever man let me know ok ok ok hahahahahhahahahha”

Bucky groaned and turned the phone off. Of course he’d drunkenly bought a sword off Craigslist. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He pulled on his apron and pushed down the Velcro strap in the back to keep it on (Tony had been thoughtful enough to replace the string ties himself given Bucky’s lack of arm and therefore lack of string-tying ability).

Bucky toed on his shoes and headed out into the living room. Clint was there, looking much better after having a shower even if he was drinking straight from the coffee pot.

Bucky picked up the laptop from the coffee table and made his way into the kitchen. He placed the laptop on the table in front of Clint. “Do me a favor. I bought a haunted sword on Craigslist. Go into my e-mail and take care of it. And that is _all_ I’m giving you permission to do, by the way.”

Clint nodded a few times and dragged the laptop closer to open it. Bucky dragged it back. “Finish the coffee first. I need this laptop for school.”

Clint nodded again, so Bucky took that as his cue to leave.

  


* * *

  


Bucky returned more exhausted than he had any right to be, given he only worked a five-hour shift. Doing so with half of a hangover, however, had him beat so that as soon as he walked in the door, he collapsed on the couch.

Bucky spent five minutes with his eyes closed before finally convincing himself to get up and get undressed before landing back on the couch. He noticed the laptop was back on the coffee table, still open although the screen had gone to sleep.

Bucky pulled it toward him and tapped the track pad a couple times until the ancient thing woke up. It was open to his Gmail account. There was one unread e-mail from the Craigslist person. Bucky opened it.

“Sounds good. See you then.”

Bucky frowned and scrolled to read what Clint had written: “I got work today. Can swing by tomorrow at 8 before work?”

“CLINT!” Bucky shouted. He launched himself off the couch and straight toward Clint’s bedroom. The door was closed. No doubt he was sleeping; Clint kept strange hours for his job doing god-knows-what. Bucky banged on the door a couple times. “Clint! I’m coming in!” He half-expected the door to be locked, but in all the time Bucky had known Clint, which, granted, had only been a couple years, he’d never known him to lock doors. In fact, it had taken several roommate meetings and a couple shouting matches to convince Clint that when he was using the communal bathroom off the living room, the door should not be wide open despite the fact that there was “nothing out of the ordinary going on in there”.

Bucky opened the door. Clint was asleep, snoring lightly into his pillow with the blankets half off of his prostrate body. 

“Hey! Clint!” Bucky shouted. Clint continued to snore, so Bucky grabbed a notebook off Clint’s cluttered desk and hit him several times on the hip until Clint finally snorted and turned over. 

“Wha?” Clint mumbled, rubbing at his eye. “What’d I do?”

“You were supposed to tell the Craigslist guy that the deal was off! Not tell him a time and place! What the fuck?!”

Clint huffed and rubbed his forehead. “Okay, a couple things.”

“No, fuck you, I don’t want an explanation, I want you to go back in time and fix this!”

Clint made a face and pulled at his blankets. “Yeah, dude, sure. But before I do that, you should check out the original post. It’s _amazing_. Also, you told me to ‘take care of it’,” Clint made quotation marks with his fingers, “which I did. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t give a fuck what the original post was, okay? Now I gotta e-mail them back.”

“Or you could buy the sword.”

“Yeah, because I have 150 dollars just lying around. I haven’t even bought my textbooks.” Bucky rubbed his forehead. His mouth was threatening to spill every anxiety he’d kept locked up during the summer months and he wasn’t about to do that in front of Clint.

“I’ll spot you.” Clint sat up and went over to his desk. He pulled open a drawer and rifled around before pulling out a huge wad of cash.

“Have I ever told you how fucking weird it is that I still don’t know what you do for a living?”

“I’m a landlord,” Clint said, his rehearsed response.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said. He shook his head when Clint tried to hand over a few crumpled bills, at least one of which was a hundred dollar bill.

“No way. I’m not buying a fucking sword, even if you are paying.”

“It’ll be your back-to-school present, man. Just take it.” Clint flapped the money at Bucky who took it reluctantly.

“Not a present,” Bucky said. “This is _your_ sword and you can keep it in _your_ room.”

“No way. It’s going in the living room.”

Bucky sighed. “Compromise? It can go in the den.”

Clint shrugged, which Bucky hoped was an agreement. 

“And the next time I tell you to take care of something, please assume I mean stop the thing from happening.”

Clint gave Bucky a thumbs-up before crashing back on his bed. “Check the posting,” Clint reminded him as he buried himself under blankets. “Night-night.”

Bucky put the cash in his wallet that was laying on the kitchen counter before heading back to the couch. He opened his e-mail again and found the link to the original posting.

Bucky guffawed.

“Told you!” Clint shouted from his room.

Bucky shook his head slowly as he read the description: “This sword is from the 1700s. I got it at an antique store in my grandmother’s hometown back in 1954. The person who sold it to me told me to be careful because there is a 90+% change that it is cursed. Since it’s been in my house, my life has descended into pure chaos. My knitting group all said they could feel a strange energy in my sword room (I have a collection of over 100 swords and weaponry. This is my only haunted sword). Since I got this sword, about 3 times a week, a crucifix will fall off my wall for no reason. I am 89 years old. I cannot have this cursed item in my house anymore.”

Even better than the absolutely ludicrous description was the image attached – a woman who had to be close to 90 years old brandishing this massive sword in her knitted top and flower-print skirt. Now Bucky understood why Clint was so dead-set on getting this sword. He lived for this kind of weird shit.

Bucky reread the latest e-mail and saw that Clint had sent another e-mail asking where the sword-owner lived. 

“Oh, shit,” Bucky said as he read the address. They lived in the penthouse suite in this very building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to my NaNoWriMo project! A few disclaimers:
> 
> 1\. Because this is for NaNoWriMo, it will be significantly longer, possibly long-winded. Any other story, I would go back and delete entire paragraphs of info or exposition I didn't find relevant to the plot overall, but because I'm going for word count, you get to read every piece of insignificant information I deem worthy at the time of writing.
> 
> 2\. This won't be nearly as well-edited since I'm trying not to reread it. That being said, any egregious errors that are brought to my attention will be changed. Please and thank you!
> 
> 3\. Because I only have a rough outline, the bare bones of how this story unfolds, it's mostly being written on-the-spot. Which means I may have to go back and do some continuity adjustments. I'll let you know if/when something is changed in previous, published chapters.
> 
> 4\. I'll try to update regularly. I'll even try to actual write 50k words.
> 
> 5\. AU based on [this actual Craigslist posting](http://cdn0.dailydot.com/uploaded/images/original/2014/12/2/clsword.jpg) (which is probably fake, but still hilarious).
> 
> 6\. Title from the Relient K song "Must Have Done Something Right".
> 
> 7\. Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

The residents of apartments 401 and 402 were a mystery to Bucky. He knew most of the residents on their block in Boerum Hill for the simple fact that Clint owned them all. (There was some talk about a Russian mob deal which Bucky mostly believed to be wild speculation started by Clint to make himself sound cooler than he is.) Whatever the reason, Clint was the sole landlord for upwards of a hundred units. This meant a lot of house calls when rent was due and after nearly a year living there, Bucky inadvertently learned everyone’s faces if not their names. 

Their building had been renovated in the early 60s and walls had been knocked down to combine two apartment buildings to make room for larger families that had made their way into the Brooklyn neighborhood. From the outside, it looked like two separate buildings, but it was really one. Each unit therefore had incredibly awkward spacing, with bedrooms on either side of the unit with a huge living room in the middle. It would be more lucrative to build those walls back up to entice the younger, singler crowds who were moving in droves to the hip boroughs. Clint had done so with just one unit – the penthouse – before giving up. Apparently, it was a lot of paperwork.

So it was decidedly weird that Bucky didn’t know who owned the dual penthouses in their building. He knew both were occupied and that they paid their rent on time (or else he’d have heard Clint ranting about them, despite the fact that Clint was constantly giving residents extra time to pay).

As Bucky stood outside suite 401, he read the e-mail once more that said Bucky should ask for Steve when he comes to pay for his new haunted sword. This was all just a little too strange for 8 in the morning, but Bucky couldn’t dawdle for too long; he couldn’t be late to work again, despite Tony’s insistence that it was “good for him” to break the rules sometimes.

He knocked three times and waited. The door opened to reveal a petite old woman, probably close to 90, although decidedly not the one in the photo. She had very short, curly gray hair and was sporting a plain, pale blue dress. She squinted at Bucky.

“You’re not Steve,” she said. Her accent was thick; she’d clearly been a New Yorker her whole life.

“Uh, no,” Bucky said. “But I’m looking for him.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m right here.”

Bucky turned to the voice behind him to find a short, thin man coming out of 402, locking the door behind him. 

“You know Peggy won’t stand for tardiness, Steve,” the old woman said.

Steve smiled a little and pushed his (huge, hipster) glasses up his nose. “She’ll forgive me this once, Angie. Trust me. C’mon, I gotta tell you guys something.” The old woman took that as her cue to go back into the apartment, leaving Bucky and Steve alone in the hall.

Steve walked across the hallway and stopped at Bucky. “You must be the guy who’s taking the sword?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky stretched out his hand before realizing maybe that wasn’t what was called for in these types of situations. He’d never sold or bought anything on Craigslist and was suddenly at a loss for what to do.

Luckily, Steve didn’t hesitate to take the proffered hand. His grip was a lot firmer than Bucky expected, given the guy’s small stature. Steve pushed back his blond hair from his eyes and stepped around Bucky. “C’mon in,” he said.

Bucky stepped into the apartment. Inside, the living room was arranged with quite a few various, mismatched chairs and sofas in a circle. In the middle were several boxes containing yarn and needles. Sitting in the seats were eight individuals, all easily over the age of 80, including the woman who had initially answered the door, Angie.

“Steve, dear, you made it,” said the only other woman in the room besides Angie. This, Bucky realized, was the woman in the picture. She had long, white hair that was gently curled around her face. Her eyes were sharp and alert. She must have been quite beautiful in her day, and she was clearly not a woman to be messed with.

“Yeah. Um, Peggy, guys, this is, um…” Steve turned to Bucky who realized Steve must not know his name.

“Bucky,” he provided. He raised his right hand in greeting.

“Bucky,” Steve repeated, with a raised eyebrow. He gave Bucky a look before turning back to the group. Most of them had stopped their various knitting projects to listen and watch. “He’s here to take the sword.”

There was a long silence that was suddenly cut off by every person in the room standing (at varying speeds) and protesting loudly.

A black man with a half-knitted sock started shouting in rapid French. Another man was nodding in agreement next to him while a Japanese man brandished red, metal needles at Steve. A man with a high, English accent was shouting about injustices and youth and privilege. Angie was worrying a spool of yarn in her weathered hands as a man with a mustache accused Steve of having too much audacity, but then he started smiling as if proud of the fact.

Steve went from surprised to horrified to indignant in record time, his unusually strong jaw jutting out in defiance as the shouting got louder and less coherent. 

Finally, the sword-owner named Peggy stood and shushed the group. They quieted almost instantly. Bucky was impressed, though not surprised. She clearly was the leader, whether officially or not.

“Please explain yourself,” Peggy said. She folder her hands in front of her.

“You guys were always complaining about it!” Steve explained. “You said it wasn’t the same with Dum-Dum gone and…” He turned a little red and looked down. “Well, I had Sam write something up and someone,” he looked at Bucky, “agreed to pay for it. A good price, too. 

“You guys can’t stop looking at that thing and I know it’s because every time you do you think of Dum-Dum. It’s not healthy. Not to mention that Dum-Dum was _my_ uncle and so it’s technically now _my_ sword which means if I want to sell it, I can.”

The group looked about ready to burst into flames. All except Peggy who nodded. Then, she fixed her gaze on Bucky. He immediately straightened up and tried to look respectable. It was hard to pull off in his Starbucks apron, but he tried.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Buck- um, James. But I go by Bucky. Ma’am.” Bucky felt himself blush.

“James. James Barnes?”

“How-? Um, yes, ma’am. How’d you know that?”

“Clint’s roommate.”

There was a general “oh” of realization from a couple of the men in the room. Bucky wasn’t sure if he should feel worried or flattered that Clint talked about him to these people.

“Wait, you live here?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, on the second floor,” Bucky replied.

“You may take the sword,” Peggy said.

There was immediate dissent from the knitting group, but Peggy held up a hand and they quieted. “Steve, go ahead.”

Steve nodded and motioned to Bucky to follow him. They went back into what was the den in Bucky and Clint’s apartment. In Peggy’s it was an armory.

Floor to ceiling and all along the walls were hundreds of intricate, metal weapons and pieces of armor.

“She’s a bit of a collector,” Steve explained as he picked his way over an ancient round shield and a knight’s helmet. “Some of this stuff could go for thousands in a museum, but she’s very attached.”

“Weird hobby,” Bucky commented. He picked up a gauntlet that was surprisingly heavy and weighed it in his hand. How anyone fought covered in that much weight was a mystery to him. As Steve made his way to the far side of the room, Bucky asked, “So, what was that about the sword being haunted or something?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that was Sam. My roommate. He fancies himself a writer, so I had him make up the description. I didn’t realize he was going to take that literally.”

“So, it’s not haunted? Clint’ll be sorely disappointed about that.”

Steve reached over his head and pulled down the sword Bucky recognized from the picture online. “No, sorry,” Steve replied. “Although the lie isn’t unwarranted,” he added as he made his way back toward Bucky. On his way over he found a burlap sack covering a large, red and white shield and he wrapped the sword in it. “Apparently, the sword does some weird shit when no one’s looking. Peggy always said it had a mind of its own. You should hear the stories those guys tell about Dum-Dum and this sword.”

“Dum-Dum’s your uncle, you said?”

“Was. Is. He passed away a few months ago.”

“Oh. Shit, sorry.”

Steve shrugged a thin shoulder and finally made it to Bucky. He handed him the wrapped sword. “Anyway,” Steve continued, “ever since he died, apparently it’s been acting weird. I’ve never seen anything, but the others swear up and down. And Sam eats their stories up like he needs ‘em to survive.”

“Sam Wilson, right?” Bucky asked. He tucked the sword under his arm. It was a lot lighter than it looked.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Just by name. You get to know just about everyone when you room with the landlord. Which is why it’s strange I’ve never seen nor heard of you.”

Steve blushed and looked down. Bucky wondered if he hit a soft spot and was about to apologize when Steve replied, “I don’t get out much.”

“Right, yeah. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yeah.”

With that, Steve left the room, Bucky following close behind. Back in the living room, things seemed to have quieted down for the most part. All but one man was engrossed in their knitting work. A few, Peggy included, glanced up from their work when Steve and Bucky reentered the room. The man who wasn’t knitting was sitting with his arms crossed and a stern frown on his aged face. There was something very familiar about it, like Bucky had seen him before, but he didn’t spend a lot of time with the elderly, so that couldn’t be.

“Let’s go into the hallway,” Steve said, leveling the man with a pointed stare.

“What happened to your arm, kid?” the old man asked.

Bucky didn’t even have time to react to the blatant question before Steve was yelling, “Howard! What the hell?” He placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, ushering him to the door.

Once they were in the hallway with the door shut, Steve turned to Bucky. “God, I’m so sorry. Howard’s got issues with keeping his mouth shut. He doesn’t have a filter. I’d say it was old age, but he’s probably the most lucid one in there.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. I’d rather someone just ask than stare.” He glanced down at the prosthetic, mostly hidden by his work shirt. 

“You’d think he’d have learned to have a little more class, though. Dum-Dum was missing an arm, too. Right at the elbow.” Steve touched his left arm to indicate where. At Bucky’s questioning stare, Steve added, “He was in the war. Didn’t like to talk about it. Some of the guys in there were his war buddies.” Steve stuck his thumb back at the apartment door behind him. “Anyway, I’m sorry about all the drama. You’d never know it, but they’re a really great group.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky said. He shifted the sword slightly so he could reach into his back pocket and pull out the cash. 

“Thanks,” Steve said. “Peggy’s been asking for new yarn. Wants to start teaching us to purl. Might be too advanced for me, but we’ll see.”

“You’re a part of the knitting club?” Bucky asked, surprised.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said.

“Oh. I mean, that’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Steve said again, although his initial distrust of Bucky’s reaction faded slightly. “Anyway, I should head back in. I’m sorry, again, for them.”

“It’s no trouble. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve replied, though he didn’t sound hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the interest in this weird fuckin' story.
> 
> Tags will be updated as the story progresses!


	3. Chapter 3

“Clint, we had a deal,” Bucky said, dropping his messenger bag by the front door and kicking off his shoes. “We said the den.”

“But look how fucking cool it looks here, man!” Clint put out his arms like Vanna White and grinned at the sword that was displayed on their living room wall, just over the TV.

“I can’t have anyone over with that thing there.”

“First of all, when was the last time you had anyone over?”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but Clint cut in: “Secondly, you can just tell this mystery person that your crazy roommate has a weird thing for swords. Which is basically true, so long as they’re haunted.”

“Hate to rain on your parade, but Steve says it’s not haunted.”

Clint put his hands on his hips and frowned. “Steve? I thought this thing belonged to Peggy. She’s got a massive collection. You should see it.”

Bucky conceded that the sword wasn’t going to move from the living room, at least not today, and curled up on the couch. “Steve was her proxy. There was a whole group of old people up there who were incredibly upset that we were taking this sword, by the way.”

Clint hummed thoughtfully and sat on the other end of the couch. “The Shield knitting club, I presume?”

“Yeah. Wait, Shield? What’s that?”

Clint shrugged and stuck his hand between the cushions, searching for their oft-lost remote. “Apparently, it stands for something. Peggy told me once and I forgot as soon as she said. It’s cute, though, right? Bunch o’ old guys knitting. And Peggy and Angie. And Steve sometimes.”

“What do you know about Steve?”

Clint paused in his fruitless search to stare at Bucky. “Why do you ask?”

Bucky blushed in spite of himself. “No reason. I mean, I’ve never seen him until today.”

Clint resumed his search and finally came up with the remote. He pressed the power button a couple times, but to no avail. He flipped the remote over to reveal a missing back and no batteries. “Aww, remote,” Clint said. He tossed it onto the coffee table. “He doesn’t get out much,” Clint said, returning to the conversation. “Got some, like, anxiety issues or something?” Clint shrugged. “Sam’s been helping him out, I think. Steve used to live up there with his uncle, but after he died, I guess Steve became kinda hermit-y. That was before you lived here. And then Sam moved in six or seven months ago. I guess he’s doing better if he talked to you, so kudos to Sam.”

“He seemed fine to me,” Bucky said. 

“Lucky he’s a comic artist so he doesn’t have to leave the house if he doesn’t want to.” Clint sighed dreamily. “If only.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky stared at his woefully low bank account and sighed, telling himself at least now he didn’t have to worry about textbooks for another semester. He was able to buy almost all of them on Amazon fairly cheap, so he even had some money left over for the notebooks and pens he would inevitably fill up or lose throughout the year. More importantly, there was just enough to splurge on some decent button-up shirts. He was going to be a Teacher’s Assistant this semester as one of his required elective courses and although it was the main reason for his heightened anxiety throughout the summer, it was kind of thrilling, too. It was silly, honestly, since he’d done his Student Teaching back in undergrad without breaking a sweat, but he would be TA-ing at the collegiate level. And even if he wasn’t going to be doing any actual teaching, he was nervous about being in front of his peers, grading their papers, helping them after class. He didn’t feel qualified or old enough to be doing that. He’d gladly take a bunch of 16-year-old class clowns than that any day.

Bucky turned off his phone and put it on his nightstand. He buried deeper into his blankets and was nearly asleep when there was a loud _BANG_ from the living room. Bucky woke with a start, his heart beating a mile a minute, but quickly wrote it off as Clint coming home after a late shift (the only kind he seemed to have these days).

Bucky was nearly asleep again when there came another loud _BANG_ followed by a _CRASH_ and then a disconcerting noise that sounded an awful lot like glass falling on their wood floors.

Bucky cursed Clint under his breath and flipped on the light by his bed. He stumbled out into the living room, but it was dark. He fumbled for the light switch and yelped when the light finally came on.

The sword had come off the hooks holding it up and landed on the TV. It had then somehow inserted itself into the television, shattering the glass. Exposed wires sparked ominously. Bucky lurched forward toward the outlet to unplug it; the last thing they needed was a fire.

Bucky rubbed his forehead. He started classes tomorrow, he really couldn’t be fucked to care about this right now. Fortunately, it was Clint’s TV and Clint’s stupid idea to hang the sword there, so Bucky wasn’t likely to be in any trouble. 

Bucky glanced over at the coat hooks by the door and noticed Clint’s jacket was gone, which meant he wasn’t even home yet. Bucky sighed and got the broom and dustpan out. He could at least do this. After all, it was his drunken ass that had offered to buy the sword in the first place.

After sweeping up the smaller pieces of glass, and wrapping the larger pieces in paper towels before throwing them in the garbage, Bucky grabbed the handle of the sword. A spark surge through it and into his hand, causing him to shout and drop the sword. Bucky flexed his hand. He went into the kitchen and grabbed an oven mitt. He gripped the sword and moved it onto the coffee table. He cleaned up the rest of the glass. 

He wrote a note, explaining to Clint what happened, and left it on top of the sword, just to make it clear who the real culprit was. 

Bucky tossed restlessly for awhile once he was back in bed and couldn’t figure out why for a long time. He awoke from his half-sleep when Clint arrived home with a “Aww, TV,” followed by a louder, “Aww, sword!” 

Bucky was just lucid enough to realize his discomfort was coming from his left arm. Or, rather, the lack of one. Maybe the electric shock had upset the scarring, but he had a phantom itch. He groaned. He hadn’t had one of those in nearly 5 years. They’d been a nuisance right after the accident 7 years ago, but now it never happened. He hoped it would go away by morning and finally he fell asleep, annoyed and uncomfortable.

It was 3:15 a.m. when he awoke again. At first, he wasn’t sure what had caused him to awaken, but then he heard it. It was coming from inside his room – a shuffling from the area by his book shelf followed by a muted thump of something heavy landing on his carpet. 

Bucky let out a breath and squinted his eyes, but it was useless; it was pitch-black in his room. The shuffling started again and Bucky was reminded of an event four months ago when Clint had brought home a one-eyed yellow Labrador that had promptly made his way into Bucky’s room and peed on his bedpost.

It took an enormous amount of reasoning to convince Clint that no, they could not have the dog. They didn’t have the time for a dog or the experience and Clint’s no-pet policy would go out the window once the tenants found out he was harboring his own mangy mutt. Clint was already way too lenient on that particular policy since Bucky knew for a fact that Ms. Widmore in the first unit owned four cats. Clint argued that cats totally counted as not-human persons, not pets, but Bucky knew he was just too soft to take an old lady’s cats away.

So Bucky could only assume the snuffling intruder in his own bedroom was a drunken Clint or some down-on-its-luck creature. Bucky was half-inclined to ignore it and go back to sleep, but then there was a light pressure on the foot of his bed. He scrambled to turn on the lamp on his nightstand. Bucky let out a hearty yell when he saw at the foot of his bed the sword, point dangerously close to his left foot. 

He took purposeful breaths until he calmed again. “What the fuck,” Bucky muttered and rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his phone and typed out a message to Clint: _Very funny. Haha. But ur the one who wanted the sword, not me._

He hit send, turned off the light, and curled up away from the sword. A moment later, he felt a nudge on the back of his calf that retreated briefly and reappeared on his thigh. It disappeared again and before it could move any farther, Bucky turned the light on and hopped out of bed. He staggered, off-balance. “Clint, not funny!” he shouted. Not seeing him in the room, he ducked down and checked under the bed. Still, nothing.

Okay, so there were strings. He bent over the sword to look closer. The sword rose up and smacked him hard across the cheek with its flat end. Bucky cried out and fell backwards. He rubbed his cheek. It was painful and probably red, but Bucky had other concerns.

He swallowed hard, steeled himself, and was about to dart toward his bedroom door when suddenly the door opened and there was Clint. 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Clint mumbled sleepily, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Clint! The sword! It–!” Bucky was cut off as the door slammed closed, hitting Clint in the face.

“Aww, what the fuck, dude?” Clint cursed.

“Clint, it’s not me! It’s the sword! It’s haunted! It’s really fucking haunted oh my _God_ I’m going to die!”

There was a brief pause during which Bucky didn’t take his eyes off the immobile sword. His first priority was to escape the room, then figure out what to do about the sword.

Bucky, still seated on the carpet, started scooting closer to the door as slowly as he could, always maintaining his sight on the sword. Minutes passed that felt more like hours and finally there came a knock on the door. The handle jiggled a little.

“It’s locked,” Clint announced.

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky hissed.

“Hey, you still alive in there?”

“Fuck you, Clint!”

“Oh, good. Hey man, look, I’m real sorry about the sword thing. I kinda hoped it was haunted, but, like, I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“I’ll forgive you once you _get me out of here!_ ” Bucky shouted.

Clint tried the doorknob again to no avail, then there were the telltale sounds of a body ramming up against the door. A few of those and Clint huffed. “This thing is stuck. You gotta unlock it. Can you reach the–?” At the same moment Bucky reached for the door knob, the sword rushed toward him, slamming into the door and embedding itself there. Clint screamed.

“It almost fucking impaled me!” Clint shouted. 

Bucky whimpered, holding his hand close to his chest, away from where it had almost been cut off by a _haunted fucking sword_.

“Okay, okay, I can pick the lock. Lemme find something.”

Bucky nodded and tried to convince himself he wasn’t going to die. Clint returned and there was the sound of metal on metal when finally, blessedly, the door opened. Bucky scrambled up and out of the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look back until he was crouched behind the couch. 

Clint stared at the few inches of the sword sticking through the splintered bedroom door and said, “We should probably give the sword back.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky was exhausted the next day, having refused to sleep anywhere near the haunted sword, leaving him with only one other option: Clint’s room. Fortunately, Clint owned a king-sized bed. Unfortunately, he snored and tossed and turned. By seven, Bucky was almost grateful to have to leave for class. He realized then that all of his clothes were stuck in his room with the sword. Bucky scrounged up some unsmudged jeans from Clint’s dresser and found a shirt that could pass for professional at a bowling alley, maybe. It would have to do.

Bucky walked to class in a daze and collapsed into the seat next to Darcy in the already-crowded classroom.

“Long night?” she asked. She offered her grande Starbucks coffee to him, but he shook his head. He’d already drunk two cups at home and one on the way to class. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” he replied.

Her eyes lit up with curiosity, but her inquiry was cut off by the professor entering the room. 

Bucky had heard that Dr. Hill could be a real hard ass, but was fair and willing to help her students. That was all Bucky really cared about and she couldn’t possibly be worse than Dr. Fury who’d whipped Bucky’s proverbial ass throughout his entire undergrad career. Which wasn’t to say he was a bad teacher – Bucky had learned more from him than most of his other professors combined – but, the guy was scary. Like, if-you-don’t-properly-source-this-paper-I’m-going-to-find-where-you-live-and-stare-menacingly-at-you-through-your-own-window scary.

Dr. Hill was, in comparison, a puppy. Although, she did have a weird look on her face about half the time as if she were laughing at some secret joke at your expense. He had her for two classes, too, although this one hardly counted as a class since it was just the preliminary course before being given their TA assignments.

Bucky zoned out pretty early on in the lesson since Hill was just going through an overview of what the semester had in store for them. This was Bucky’s third semester in the Master’s program and he knew the spiel. He did, however, perk up when Hill started discussing their assistant positions.

“You’ll be writing extensive papers on the planning and implementation of the curriculums each of your associated teachers have made and why they work and don’t work. Please, for the love of God, do not write me a paper about how everything worked perfectly. You will get a failing grade. I want some critiques here, people. Don’t pull your punches.” Hill folded her arms across her chest and smiled that knowing smile. “And, as you know, because you’ve all read the syllabus,” she seemed to stare at Bucky in particular then who quickly ducked his head and pretended to review the stapled packet on his desk like it was something he’d definitely read before, “you’ll be assigned your assistant positions tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Bucky’s heart thumped wildly at the thought while the rest of the class made aborted “whoops!” and general noises of joy. 

What if Bucky got stuck with a terrible teacher? What if they hated him or what if Bucky hated them? What if the students were terrible? But how terrible could college students be? 

Maybe Hill could read minds, because she quieted the class by adding, “If any issues arise with you and your assigned teacher, changes can be made. Believe it or not, graduate students who are willing to grade papers for free are in pretty high demand.” The class laughed appreciatively and Bucky relaxed a little. “Just make sure you bring your concerns to me before the end of next month. After that time, any exchanges would be detrimental to your shadowing process and therefore your grade.”

The rest of the class went by smoothly and Bucky’s only other class of the day – Education 525 – Collaborative Methods in the Inclusive Classroom was essentially a seminar class where he got to take notes the whole time. 

He dawdled outside of class with Darcy, chatting about the upcoming semester and what teacher she hoped to be placed with. Because she was going for primary education, she had quite a few subjects as possibilities. Bucky, on the other hand, was stuck with English, for better or for worse. He tried to keep the conversation going longer, but Darcy eventually tapped out with the excuse that Jane, her roommate, was making an early dinner and she didn’t want to be late because Jane’s new boyfriend would be coming over for the first time.

Bucky walked home slowly.

He kept his eyes down as he entered the apartment, dropping his bag on the floor and running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. He sighed and finally managed to look up. The sword had moved. This, somehow, did not surprise Bucky, which was shocking in and of itself. It had placed itself back on its hooks over the destroyed TV. Bucky entertained the idea that perhaps Clint had placed it there in an effort to fix his mistake of buying the thing in the first place. But even Clint wouldn’t dare touch the sword after it had tried to murder them. Bucky glanced at his bedroom door and sure enough, the splintered wood and thin hole were still there. So the sword could move, but it couldn’t repair furniture. Or if it could, it certainly wasn’t inclined to. Clint’s jacket was missing from the coat rack, which meant he was out. So this was up to Bucky.

Bucky left the apartment and headed upstairs. He knocked a few times on Steve’s apartment door, but no one answered. It was close to 4 and Clint had said that Steve never left, but Bucky had seen him in one other place before. And besides, it was technically Peggy’s sword anyway. If anyone were going to take it back, it would be her. Hopefully, the whole Shield knitting group would be there and still be so angry that Bucky had bought it in the first place that they’d happily welcome the sword back.

Bucky knocked on Peggy’s door. He waited five minutes, then ten, before giving up. He’d get someone’s number from Clint and call around. He had just turned to walk back down the stairs when a voice behind him said, “Oh, it’s you.”

Bucky turned and saw Steve standing in his half-opened apartment door. His hair was ruffled and his glasses were missing entirely. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. 

“Were you sleeping?” Bucky asked.

The tips of Steve’s ears turned pink and he crossed his arms across his small chest, but he opened the door a little wider. “I keep weird hours,” Steve replied. “Peggy’s out playing poker with the guys. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, actually,” Bucky said, walking closer to Steve. He opened his mouth to explain and then stopped. He hadn’t thought this through. Steve had told Bucky when he bought the sword that he didn’t really believe it was haunted, so Bucky couldn’t expect Steve to believe him now. He’d have to lie.

“It’s the sword,” he said.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Well, it was sort of a joke. I mean, I was drunk when I… e-mailed you.”

A smile pulled across Steve’s face. “I could tell.”

Bucky laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. So, y’know, Clint made me go through with it. Thought it’d be funny or… I don’t know. But the truth is, we’ve got nowhere to put it. And I don’t even want my money back! Deal’s a deal,” Bucky added. 

“You want me to take the sword back?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I mean, the, um, knitting group seemed sad to see it go anyway, so…”

“No,” Steve said shortly.

“No? What–?”

“No,” Steve cut in again. “Sorry, but that sword was driving those guys crazy. Reminded ‘em of Dum-Dum and… Well, anyway, they’re better off without that thing to remind them all the time.”

“Well, what about you?” Bucky asked.

“No room,” Steve replied frankly. “Sorry. You know, no one’s stopping you from selling it yourself. Maybe you could turn a profit.”

“Oh God, I couldn’t do that to someone,” Bucky said, imagining himself reading the news of a young couple being murdered in their home by a sword that had been sold to them. 

“Do what?” Steve asked.

“Uh, nothing,” Bucky said quickly, waving his hand in the air in front of him. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll try and, um, figure something out.”

“All right.”

“Okay.”

There was a long moment where they just stared at one another until finally Steve said, “Bye, Bucky.”

“Bye, Steve,” Bucky replied, sounding as miserable as he felt.

Steve shut his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)! Come say hi.


	4. Chapter 4

“We should put it in the hall,” Clint suggested.

Bucky shook his head. “And endanger everyone else in the building?”

“We’ve already established that it can open doors. It’s already a danger to everyone else in the building,” Clint pointed out.

Bucky put his hand on his hip and stared at the sword. It hadn’t moved since it had placed itself back on the wall and now that it was 10 p.m. and Clint was home and both of them were beat and ready for bed, there still remained the question of what to do with it.

“I return to my original suggestion,” Clint said. “We leave it where it is. It clearly wants to be there. Why disturb it?”

Bucky couldn’t help but agree, mostly because the prospect of touching the thing to move it caused heart palpitations. 

“Fine, but I’m rooming with you tonight again.”

“Be my guest,” Clint replied.

  


* * *

  


Bucky curled up on his side of the bed and tried to lure himself to sleep to the sound of Clint’s soft snoring. Bucky woke with a start when he heard the _THUD_ from the living room. He turned onto his back and listened hard, his heart hammering a mile a minute. An agonizingly long time passed and Bucky stared wide-eyed at where he knew Clint’s bedroom door to be in the dark.

There was a sound, much like a heavy metal object dragging and scraping against a wooden floor and Bucky flung out his arm to hit Clint.

But Clint wasn’t there. Bucky searched frantically for him with his hand, but the bed was empty. Bucky lurched back to grab his phone. He fumbled with it and it fell onto the floor. He reached for it, toppling off the bed. Luckily, the screen had turned on with the fall and Bucky snatched it up. He called Clint.

A few, heart-stopping moments later, Bucky heard Weezer crooning about a sweater from what had to be their kitchen. Almost as soon as the ringing started, it stopped, and through the phone Bucky heard Clint whisper, “I know, I know, I’m watching it.”

“Where is it?” Bucky hissed back.

“Outside the door. I got up to piss and now I’m gonna die. I’m gonna pee myself when I die, Buck. You gotta promise to clean me up before you call the cops. Promise me, Buck.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky snapped as Clint’s voice grew louder.

“Sorry,” Clint whispered. A moment passed in silence. Bucky pressed himself against the far wall of Clint’s room. “What should I do?”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. Do you have anything in your room I can protect myself with?”

“There’s a bow and a couple of arrows next to my desk.”

“How the hell is that going to–?”

“Shh!” Clint cut in and Bucky froze. The scraping had started up again. “It’s moving,” Clint said so softly, Bucky barely heard him. Not that he needed to. It was clear the sword was moving and it was moving toward the door.

“It’s at the door,” Clint whispered. 

“Oh God, I’m gonna die,” Bucky whimpered into the phone.

“I’ll try and grab it. Maybe it won’t– Oh fuck!” As soon as Clint had announced his plan, the sword flew into action. Clint’s bedroom door opened and closed with a bang, with just enough time in between to let in the sword. 

Clint shook the handle and shouted, “Bucky! Bucky! Are you alive?”

“So far,” Bucky replied, voice wavering. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m gonna… I’m gonna get someone. Hang tight.”

Bucky let out another whimper and closed his eyes against the dark, listening for any sounds of a murderous sword coming toward him. 

Agonizingly long minutes passed and what felt like an hour later, Bucky heard voices coming from the living room. 

“–and I guess he really pissed it off because it’s only attacked him and now he’s stuck in there. God, I really hope he’s not dead. Hey, Buck, you alive?” Clint called, knocking twice on the door.

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah!” he croaked back. 

Whoever Clint brought along was quiet, which Bucky hoped also meant strong and powerful and capable of breaking down doors, because he might die from fear if the sword didn’t skewer him first.

Then, he heard it. The sword couldn’t have been more than four feet away and it was dragging itself across the soft carpet straight toward Bucky slowly.

Bucky immediately shot into action, propelled by adrenaline, and leaped to his feet. He sprinted to the door and clambered for the door handle. His sweaty hand shook and he fumbled for the lock before finally, gloriously getting it undone. But the door still wouldn’t budge. He pressed his body against it and begged, “Please, please, fuck, please open! C’mon! Shit!” 

From the other side of the door, he could hear Clint talking, drowned out by Bucky’s cry for help. 

Bucky gave one last push against the door and it finally gave, ejecting him into the living room and at the feet of Clint and…

“Steve?” Bucky gasped, looking up at the man. He was frowning deeply, but looked more awake than he’d been earlier when Bucky had asked him to take the sword back.

Steve glanced at Bucky and then over his shoulder at the room. Bucky clambered backwards on his hand and knees until he was safely behind Clint. He stood, grasping at the couch for stability while Clint assessed him for injuries. 

Steve took a step toward the bedroom and both Clint and Bucky shouted, “NO!” 

Steve turned and gave them a murderous stare, which was enough to shut them both up. Steve walked into the bedroom and flipped on the light. There, on the floor, feet from where Bucky had been huddled in fear, was the sword. Steve walked further into the room, grabbed the sword by the hilt, weighed it in his grip, and turned back to Clint and Bucky.

“Next time you play a prank, do it on someone else,” Steve said, his words dripping with vitriol.

“Prank? This wasn’t a prank, dude,” Clint said. So surprised by Steve’s claim, he even accepted the sword when Steve dropped it in his arms. 

“At least have the fucking decency to give it up if you’re going make fun of me! I’m not stupid or gullible. Aren’t you a little old to be playing the frat boys, anyway? Go fuck yourselves,” Steve snapped. His whole face was red with anger, his jaw jutting out the same way Bucky had seen it before when confronted with the Shield knitting group’s anger.

“Steve, wait,” Bucky tried, but Steve shook his head and left the apartment, slamming the door on the way out.

  


* * *

  


Bucky didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Most of it was because he was coming down from his adrenaline high, but another part was because he felt so guilty about Steve. The guy actually thought he and Clint were bullying him. Bucky understood it to some degree. Steve was small, even though he must be near Bucky’s age, in his mid-20s at least, and if he were that small now, Bucky could imagine him in high school and even middle school. It must have been a nightmare. Bucky had been able to blend in during those years. He hadn’t lost his arm yet, so there was nothing very stand-out about him. He got good grades, hung out with other nobodies, didn’t do sports. He occasionally would volunteer to do set work for the theatre department, but that was the extent of his extra-curriculars. He was grateful just to be left alone because he knew what happened to kids who looked like Steve and it wasn’t good.

He’d have to apologize and somehow explain to Steve that it hadn’t been a prank and that the sword really was haunted. And if Steve still didn’t believe him, he supposed he could claim he had a mental break. At least then Steve might still talk to him. 

Clint and Bucky decided to lock the sword in Clint’s car. It was an old, beat-up gray sedan whose windows didn’t work and the locks worked half the time. And yet Clint was unusually fond of the car. He’d initially refused to house the sword in it because he was afraid the thing might damage the already-ripped leather seating, but he came around after the second attempt on Bucky’s life.

“We’ll keep it there until we figure out what to do,” Clint said, locking the car three times, just in case.

Bucky hugged his jacket closer to himself. It was finally turning into autumn.

  


* * *

  


Darcy laughed when Bucky showed up to class the next morning looking even worse than the day before.

“You’re going to have to tell me what’s keeping you up these days,” Darcy said as Bucky took the seat next to her again. “Or _who_ ,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, maybe that’s what you need. Someone to keep you up. Or help you fall asleep, if you catch my drift.”

“I do. And I don’t.”

“You should come to Jane’s tomorrow night. She does these dinner parties on Wednesday and invites all these super hot guys from her astrophysics class or whatever nerdy shit she’s taking this semester. And, okay, they’re, like, _beyond_ nerdy, but that probably means they’re gonna get some bangin’ job and get filthy rich. Anyway, you have to come meet Jane’s new boytoy. He’s a shit brickhouse! Like, his bicep is this big.” Darcy held her hands apart and Bucky raised his eyebrows appreciatively.

“And get this,” Darcy continued. “He’s super nice. He pulled Jane’s chair out for her and everything. Apparently, he was raised in Sweden or Switzerland or some shit. I wasn’t listening to be honest because _his biceps, Bucky_. You have to meet him.”

Bucky laughed. “I’ll let you know if I can come,” he said. It might be nice to be somewhere where the sword wasn’t for once.

“Nice,” Darcy said just as Dr. Hill walked in.

Bucky fidgeted nervously in his seat as Hill doled out their TA assignments. He’d requested the English department, which was his focus, but was surprised to see he’d gotten…

“Dr. Fury?” Bucky whined.

Darcy looked over at him. The rest of the class broke into hushed voices as they each received their assignments. Darcy, who had been in classes with Bucky through undergrad as well, who had also known the terror that was Dr. Fury, gasped dramatically. “No way,” she said and craned her neck to read his paper. 

“It’s not even an English class,” Bucky complained, reading the course description. “COMM 202 Introduction to Communications,” he read. “Comm was my minor, but I don’t want to teach it!”

Darcy shrugged. “It’s technically part of the English curriculum, though, remember? You could sub it for English 101.”

Bucky sighed. “Can’t believe I got stuck with Fury.”

“Maybe he’s not so bad when he’s not your teacher. And remember, you can always switch if you really hate it.”

That cheered Bucky up. “Yeah, that’s true.”

  


* * *

  


Because the Comm class only met on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Bucky’s Wednesday was free after his five-hour shift at Starbucks in the morning. Dr. Hill’s class no longer had to meet every day, but instead once every two weeks to turn in papers and to discuss what they’d been learning. Bucky’s other three courses – Collaborative Methods, Survey of Exceptionalities, and Social Foundations of American Education – were lecture classes that required a lot of note-taking and some discussion, but nothing too strenuous since most students in their third semester would also be TA-ing.

This also meant he was free to attend Jane’s dinner party. Darcy sent a string of what Bucky could only assume were happy emojis when he informed her he would tag along. She then told him to invite Clint because he “probably hadn’t eaten anything but pizza since the last time she saw him” which was very likely true, so Bucky agreed.

Bucky had only met Jane about a year ago, although he’d been hearing about her for close to five now. She and Darcy had been roommates since the start of college, but because of their vastly different schedules, she and Bucky never met until Darcy forced them to during lunch one day. Darcy had also insisted Bucky invite along his new roommate, Clint, which Bucky found a little weird because the guy was also his landlord, but then Clint agreed and it turned out he was a lot more laidback than Bucky ever could of thought possible for someone who legally owns a hundred units in Brooklyn.

Clint hadn’t tagged along since, but Bucky had hung out with Jane and Darcy quite a few times. Jane was brilliant – the kind of smart that tended to baffle everyone else in the room. Bucky learned to smile and nod and not ask questions early on, for fear that she might go off on a tangent, as she was wont to do.

Bucky was surprised when Clint accepted the invitation to the dinner on Wednesday, but then Clint pointed out there would be free food cooked by someone other than Bucky (whose expertise in the kitchen started and stopped with bland, scrambled eggs that were sometimes not burnt). 

They elected to take a cab since Clint’s car was being possessed by a homicidal sword and it was too far to walk, and ended up arriving before the buff, Swedish boyfriend or any aforementioned hot nerds from Jane’s class.

“One of Jane’s nerd friends invited _his_ roommate,” Darcy explained as she led them into the living room of their flat. “So I’m thinking he’s not single – sorry, Buck. Jane thinks they’re _just_ roommates. We’ve got a bet going. Care to raise the stakes?”

“I think we’re good,” Bucky said.

Jane peeked around the corner, looking downright domestic in an apron. Then, she grinned at her guests and stepped around, revealing the periodic table imprinted on the apron. “Hey, boys! Clint, I’m glad you could make it!”

Clint smiled as he took a seat. “I always respond to offers of free food,” he replied.

A small, black terrier trotted out of the kitchen behind Jane and yipped when it saw Clint.

“Sleipnir!” Clint cried out and the dog started wriggling so hard it took much longer to get across the living room and into Clint’s outstretched arms.

“Uh, new dog?” Bucky asked.

“Yep!” Jane said before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“How’d you know his name?” Bucky asked Clint, but was interrupted by a boisterous yell.

“GREETINGS, JANE! IT SMELLS WONDERFUL!” 

Darcy smiled gleefully. “That’ll be the boytoy!” she said

Around the corner came the man in question, hulking and blond and impressively happy.

“Thor?” Bucky said with a disbelieving laugh. He got up and walked over to him.

“Bucky!” Thor said in surprise then chuckled. “I should have known the friend of Darcy’s from the teaching program was you!”

“You guys already know each other?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah, we work together at Starbucks,” Bucky said as Thor thwacked him hard on the back in greeting. "He's also only a year ahead of us in the teaching program. You knew that, right?"

"Obviously _not_ ," Darcy said, "or else I would have said something earlier." 

“Wow, Jane, this smells great,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind Thor. Thor went over to the couch where he introduced himself to Clint.

Darcy leaned close to Bucky and hissed, "Next time a guy like that is just parading around in the same damn building as I am, you'd better tell me."

Darcy cleared her throat and exclaimed loudly, “And this is Kate! Another of Jane’s friends.” A girl came through into the room. She was a petite Korean girl wearing a purple cardigan and matching headband. She extended her hand to Bucky who took it with a smile. “Kate, this is Bucky and Clint is over there–”

“Katie?” Clint said.

“Ew, who invited you?” Kate asked playfully as Clint and Thor joined them. 

“You know _Kate_?” Darcy asked, exasperated.

“Yeah, we work together,” Kate replied, and stuck her tongue out at Clint who rolled his eyes.

Bucky immediately perked up at that. So Clint did have another job and it apparently involved someone else, so that was probably good. He wasn’t off robbing banks, at least. He went to ask Kate where she worked, but was interrupted by Jane announcing that dinner was nearly ready and they should take their seats at the table.

The table was actually three tables of varying heights squashed together with mismatched silverware and glasses. Bucky had just sat down with Clint on his right and Thor on his left when a knock came at the door.

“Okay, everyone place their final bets,” Darcy whispered to the table. 

“You’re right on time!” Jane’s voice carried down the hall. “Go ahead in, everyone’s just sitting down.”

Darcy cleared her throat and was trying to look composed at the end of the table when Steve walked around the corner followed closely by a black man Bucky recognized as Sam Wilson, Steve’s roommate.

“Oh shit,” Bucky mumbled. 

It took Steve a little longer to notice Bucky, but when he did, his cheerful grin immediately fell and he aimed a heated glare at Bucky before turning his attention back to Jane who had just entered carrying a bowl of something.

Steve and Sam took the only two seats available – right across from Bucky and Clint. 

“Clint!” Sam greeted cheerfully, holding his hand across the table. Clint shook his hand with a smile.

“Hey, man,” Clint replied. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too. And you’re… James, right?” Sam turned his attention to Bucky who nodded weakly.

“Yeah. Um, Bucky.”

“Bucky, right, got it,” Sam with a genuine smile. 

Steve must not have told Sam what happened, or else the guy was an exceptionally good pretender at not caring that they’d potentially played a cruel prank on his roommate.

As Jane bustled in and out of the kitchen carrying various trays and dishes of food, the conversation grew louder. Finally, Jane announced that dinner was served, and everyone dug in.

“You guys bought that sword off of Peggy, right?” Sam asked a few minutes into their meal.

Bucky coughed around a piece of broccoli while Steve leveled him with a menacing frown.

“Uh, yeah,” Clint said uneasily.

Sam nodded. “Creepy, isn’t it? That thing scared the living daylights outta me. Apparently, it used to fuck with Peggy, too.”

Clint’s eyes were wide and both he and Bucky had stopped eating. “Oh yeah?” Bucky asked innocently.

“Yeah, like this one time–,” Sam started but was cut off by Steve who asked Thor loudly, “So, tell me, what’s Sweden like?”

Thor’s eyes lit up at the question and he immediately went into a very enthusiastic, very loud description of his home life, the culture, and some anecdotes about growing up there. It was too loud to hold a conversation with Sam.

Sam shot Steve a look, which Steve pointedly ignored, and Clint and Bucky went back to eating. The rest of the night was uneventful. Steve avoided Clint and Bucky and by 10, Kate and Thor had begged off. Sam and Steve were quick to follow, leaving Clint and Bucky to help clean up.

“Hey, Jane,” Bucky said, trying for casual and probably failing spectacularly. “How do you know Steve? And Sam,” he added quickly.

“Oh, well, I don’t know Steve. This was the first time I met him,” Jane replied, putting another cleaned dish on the rack for Bucky to dry. “I met Sam through one of my psych classes. He’s going to be a therapist. He already works at the VA, you know,” she said.

Bucky hummed interestedly and placed a newly dried plate back on the shelf. 

“I guess Steve doesn’t get out much,” Jane continued.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Bucky said. And at Jane’s questioning look, he added, “He and Sam live on our top floor of our building.”

“Small world,” Jane said.

“Yeah. Clint was saying that since Steve’s uncle died, he’s been kind of… closed off.”

Jane was quiet for a moment with only the sound of Clint and Darcy playing with Sleipnir in the living room and the running water. “Yeah, that’s what Sam said,” she said finally. “Apparently tonight was kind of a big deal, actually. He’s trying to get back out there, y’know. Socialize.”

Bucky’s heart immediately sank. He’d just ruined Steve’s attempt to become normal again. Great. Maybe Bucky should move out of the apartment or the city or the country. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty since the sword really was haunted and it really did try to kill him, but being the supposed bully didn’t sit right with him. He would have to prove that to Steve one way or another, but after the shitshow that was Jane’s dinner party, he couldn’t imagine Steve going out of his way to see Bucky ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Undone (The Sweater Song)" by Weezer is a song Clint would absolutely love.
> 
> Kate and Clint are both modeled off of Matt Fraction's "Hawkeye" Hawkeyes, which you should read.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

“Dr. Fury,” Bucky said. He stood straight and offered his hand, hoping he came off more teacher, less student. 

Dr. Fury took his hand, his grip dangerously strong. He didn’t smile. “Mr. Barnes,” he said. “Glad you’re here.”

Bucky warmed at the comment. Fury probably meant it as a throw-away statement, but it was something. 

Bucky tugged at the bottom of his starched button-up, one he’d been able to wear because his and Clint’s apartment was no longer being attacked by a haunted sword at night and Bucky now had access to his dresser. He’d even tentatively slept in his own bed, although he did wake several times in the middle of the night thinking he heard something. But the sword was still in Clint’s car when Bucky peeked in the next morning on his way to Dr. Fury’s office.

The office was small and crammed with books – textbooks and novels alike. Fury taught World Literature as well as a few elective English courses along with the Intro to Comm course Bucky was TA-ing for and the books reflected his eclectic tastes.

Bucky shifted nervously on his feet, unsure whether he should sit down in one of the two mismatched chairs in front of Fury’s overcrowded desk or just stand. His choice was soon made for him when Fury stood, leather bag in hand, and headed out of his office. Bucky followed him out and waited for him to lock the office door before they made their way into the sub-basement floor of the building where the Communications courses were taught. 

The undergraduate English, Education, and Communications classes were housed in one large but overcrowded building on campus, which meant Bucky was very familiar with most of the hall. The intro class was taught in one of the windowless, cold rooms right next to their studio where film students could pretend to be news anchors with huge, professional backdrops.

The intro class was an 8 a.m. course, which meant no one was there when Bucky and Fury arrived 15 minutes early. 

“Where would you like me to sit, sir?” Bucky asked. He hoped Fury would suggest the back of the room where he could take notes about the lesson and not be stared at by the rest of the class, but Fury indicated the teacher’s desk in the corner.

“I like to stand when I teach,” Fury added. He put his bag on the floor by the podium at the front of the room and pulled out the textbook and a few folders overflowing with papers.

“Okay,” Bucky said.

He let his own bag down on the floor by the chair behind the desk and pulled out a notebook and pen. He opened to the first, blank page and wrote the date.

“I know this isn’t the class you’d prefer to TA for,” Fury said.

Bucky looked over at him, surprised.

“Oh, uh, no, it’s fine,” Bucky said.

Fury’s lip twitched into an almost-smile. “Dr. Hill didn’t tell you,” he said.

“Tell me what?” Bucky asked.

“I asked for you specifically.”

Bucky felt his mouth fall open and couldn’t stop himself from staring for a long moment. He finally composed himself long enough to stutter out, “What?”

This time, Fury actually smiled. “You’re a smart kid, Barnes. I tried to get you into one of my English courses, but they all interfered with your schedule. You’re welcome to change and TA for someone else, of course, but I think you’ll learn a lot more here with me. If you’ll allow me to toot my own horn.”

Bucky swallowed, then swallowed again, attempting to get his throat unstuck so he could talk because _Dr. Fury thought he was smart_. “No, uh, no, I’m – that’s great. This is great. Thank you,” Bucky managed to sputter out.

“Good.”

They fell into silence that might have been awkward if Bucky had any brain power to spare beyond repeating _Dr. Fury thinks I’m smart_ over and over again. The fact of the matter was, Fury was a difficult teacher because he expected a lot more from his students. Bucky had scraped by with a B in both courses he took with Fury, and that was with a ton of hard work and late night paper writing. He never would have imagined that Fury gave a shit about him one way or the other. He was surprised that, after graduating and a year later, Fury even remembered him, let alone requested him specifically.

Five minutes later, students started rolling in, looking exhausted. There were quite a few freshman, noted by their anxious side-eyeing and over-preparedness. Most were sophomores or juniors looking to fill up with a few extra credits. Communications was one of the Humanities that could fulfill a gen ed requirement, so a lot of students left it late in their schedules when the rest of their classes got harder so they would have at least one bum class to coast through. (The ones who thought like that were in for a rude awakening with Dr. Fury.)

Each student who walked in took one look at Fury before averting their gazes and clambering to find a seat in the back. Fury was intimidating, and it wasn’t just his teaching style. The guy was tall and bulky and sported an eye-patch over his left eye. This was their second day of class, so the novelty of a one-eyed teacher had worn off for the most part. A few were clearly English majors who had either seen Fury in the halls before or had him and weren’t surprised by his appearance. Some glanced over at Bucky, but he was unassuming, so their eyes didn’t linger.

It was a full class of maybe 30 students crammed into a tiny space with just enough desks. It was quiet, which wasn’t unusual for a class this early in the morning. Bucky saw a few yawn widely and counted at least ten clutching cups of what was presumably coffee. One girl was spreading out napkins on her desk and then daintily placed a muffin, banana, and juice box on them. Some kid in the back was wearing his pajama bottoms, the hood of sweatshirt pulled over his eyes as he dozed off.

The clock on the wall by Bucky’s desk ticked closer to 8. One final straggler stumbled into the class, adjusting his glasses and pushing back his soft, blond hair.

 _Steve_.

Bucky’s face heat up and he immediately turned his gaze to his notebook. Then, he thought better of it. If he was going to prove to Steve that he wasn’t the bully Steve thought he was, he’d have to face him at some point. He couldn’t do that if he tried to avoid making eye contact. He looked up again as Steve found the last seat available in a middle row to the right – on Bucky’s side of the room. He pulled out a notebook and the textbook. Owning the textbook within the first week was something of a giveaway for freshman. It meant you didn’t know better to both wait for the teacher to confirm you would need the textbook in the first place and then order it online because the bookstore charged twice as much. Or, if you were poor like Bucky, you could convince someone to share partial custody of one in class.

Bucky couldn’t quite believe that Steve was young enough to be a freshman in college, though. Besides, didn’t Clint say he had a job as a comic artist? Unless he was a genius, he would’ve had to go to school for that. And the fact of the matter was, he looked to be at least 24 years old.

Bucky’s thinking was cut off abruptly when Steve glanced up. First, he looked at Fury, then his eyes flit across the room and landed on Bucky. His eyes grew wide and his jaw clenched noticeably. Bucky raised his hand and gave a little wave. Steve’s mouth twitched into a frown which became a scowl as he diverted his attention to the notebook on his desk. 

This was going to be a long semester.

Bucky busied himself reading the syllabus Fury had given him. The set-up was similar to any of Fury’s other classes; each day was laid out and stuck to like an army regimen. In the previous class, Fury had assigned them to prepare a two- to three-minute speech that would introduce them to the class. They were given topic questions they could choose from if they had trouble coming up with things to talk about. Bucky skimmed them and wondered what he might have chosen if he’d been given the assignment, then shook his head. Think like a teacher, not a student, he told himself.

“James, why don’t you start us off this morning?” 

Bucky whipped his head toward Fury in surprise. “What?”

Fury tapped the podium with his hand. “Introduce yourself. At least two minutes.” Fury turned back to the class to add, “Pay attention. Mr. Barnes is an excellent speaker, you could learn something from him.”

Bucky blushed, shrugged, and made his way over to the podium to take Fury’s place. He was shocked at how at ease he felt, given his previous anxieties regarding being in front of the class, but after seeing that these people were students just like he was, the anxiety melted away. It helped that Fury had just seriously bolstered his ego. He’d always been a decent speaker in front of crowds; you had to have some semblance of oratory experience to be a teacher and he’d had a whole year of it during his undergraduate student teacher gig.

Fury took Bucky’s place at the desk and Bucky glanced out at the class. Most of them were staring blankly at him, some of their eyes trailing off to his left arm where the prosthetic was held awkwardly against his side. Bucky caught Steve’s eye for a moment and then Steve glared down at his notebook.

“My name is James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky unless you’re Dr. Fury, then you can call me whatever you want because I’d be too afraid to correct you.” This caused a tittering of laughter, especially from the few who Bucky started to recognize as English majors. “I’m a graduate student here getting my Master’s in Secondary English Education so I can teach high school English. I’m 25. Pisces. I enjoy long walks on the beach.”

“This is not your Tinder profile, Barnes,” Fury cut in, although he was smiling.

Bucky grinned back. “Ah, sorry. In that case, I’m just the TA.” Bucky chattered on for a couple minutes until Fury motioned to him that he could stop. There was a smattering of applause when Bucky finished and he took his seat back behind the desk while Fury went back up to the podium.

“Eye contact. Limited movement. He engages the audience, makes them laugh, keeps them invested. No vocalized pauses – that’s ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’ to you. But Mr. Barnes has had years of experience. I’m here to teach you in one semester how to not sound like a total idiot in front of a crowd. God help you.”

The class went by quickly after that, most of students “uh-ing” and “um-ing” their way through their half-assed speeches, then apologizing when they realized they were doing it, then getting flustered and doing it even more. It was a painful ordeal.

Not as painful, however, as when Steve took the podium. Whatever boldness he’d exhibited toward Bucky before melted away and left a withering, awkward man with a shaky voice. They’d been allowed notecards, which most of the students had taken advantage of, and Steve was relying on. He read them word-for-word so quietly the class had to strain to hear. Bucky only caught maybe half of it and even then he could barely pay attention he felt so bad. It was like a new kind of torture watching him struggle through this.

When he finished, the class clapped politely and Fury called up the next person without another word. Steve sat, staring at his notebook blankly, face pale.

Bucky was copying information off of the syllabus into his notebook when Fury dismissed the class and by the time he looked up, Steve was gone.

Bucky shuffled out with the last of the class after saying good-bye to Fury. Heading back up the stairs, he could hear the echoed conversations coming from above them in the stairwells. 

“And that guy? The TA? Missing an entire arm!”

Bucky froze, right hand gripping the railing of the stairs until his knuckles were white. 

Another guy laughed and the first guy continued: “A crippled communications class. Maybe you have to fight, gladiator-style to get an A. I’ll go for Fury’s right eye!” They laughed again. Bucky tried to place the voice with a face, but what did it matter anyway? This guy was just saying out loud what everyone else was thinking.

Bucky wanted to sink to the floor, sit on the stairs until his stomach unclenched and he could pretend it didn’t bother him. But another class had gotten out and was coming up behind him. Fine, then maybe he could catch up and put a face to a voice, maybe talk it out because Bucky was an _adult_ who would be dealing with this shit when he became a teacher all the time. He was going to have to talk about his disability openly at some point, may as well start now.

But Bucky got there too late. As he rounded the corner, he saw two guys – tall, jockey dudes wearing basketball shorts and Nike sandals with ankle socks that Bucky vaguely remembered from class – cornered by a petite, blond man. 

“Those ‘cripples’ have to put up with your sorry excuse of an existence and grade your fucking papers, so quit being so goddamn disrespectful,” Steve said, voice even despite his anger.

Bucky backed up a step so he was out of sight behind the corner. Steve had his back to him, so he definitely hadn’t noticed him, but the two guys looked petrified and Bucky didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

“Shit, sorry, man. Didn’t think anyone would hear. It was just a joke,” the original guy said.

“Well it’s not fuckin’ funny,” Steve said and then he must have walked away because the jock said, “What got stuck up his ass?”

Bucky leaned against the wall and let out a breath. Maybe there was hope that Steve would forgive him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this time I've written 28.5k words! And I'm right on track to finish. Of course, the Thanksgiving holidays are probably gonna fuck me up, so I'm gonna try and finish early. All of this to say - more chapters will be posted regularly and soon!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com) if you wanna shoot the shit.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday classes came and went and Bucky worked all weekend. Tony was beyond happy to cut back his hours to Wednesdays and weekends. Bucky knew he was good at his job, but there was no reason to act like they were friends or like Tony owed him something. Bucky would’ve thought it had something to do with pity for his missing arm, but he once saw Tony tell off a guy in a wheelchair for hitting on Karen, one of their baristas, so that probably wasn’t it. Whatever it was, Bucky couldn’t complain.

Thor had also invited him to another Wednesday dinner at Jane’s, but Bucky declined. What if Steve wanted to go but wouldn’t if Bucky were there? Maybe he should tell Steve he’s not going to put him at ease. He would have plenty of opportunities given that they have a class together.

But what Steve lacked in his speech-making abilities he made up for in stealth and avoidance. The guy could slide through a crowded hallway without a hitch and left Bucky in the dust no less than three times in one day. Finally, Bucky called it a lost cause. It was stressing him out and clearly Steve wasn’t ready to listen to his side of the story, so Bucky buckled down and focused on school.

Midterms loomed closer as they entered their fifth week of classes. The weather was finally turning and Bucky found himself buried deep in his studies one Tuesday morning before class, defiantly ignoring the torrential downpour outside his bedroom window.

When the alarm went off on his phone reminding him that he really, really had to leave for class or he was going to be late, he packed up his things and made his way into the living room. Clint was splayed out on the couch watching TV on Bucky’s decrepit laptop since their TV was out of commission for good, it’s shattered, mutilated body still staring at them with its gaping hole. Bucky supposed he should remind Clint to throw it out soon. 

Bucky stood under the veranda of their apartment building, scowling at the dark skies and wet pavement. Cars flew past, throwing up waves of water at unsuspecting pedestrians. Bucky opened the umbrella and stepped out into the rain. Bucky hated holding umbrellas. He hated holding anything, really, but at least he could put down a coffee cup at a moment’s notice. But to stay dry under an umbrella meant that was _all_ he could do. He couldn’t reach for his wallet or phone, couldn’t hail a cab, couldn’t even wave to someone walking past. He was trapped – at least until he got inside and out of the rain.

He had perfected holding the umbrella with his prosthetic, trapping the handle between the arm and his side, but it was uncomfortable and wobbly and with the wind whipping hard and fast as it was now, basically useless.

He stepped out into the street and directly into a puddle. He cried out as the cold water lapped his ankle and soaked his sock and shoe. “Christ,” Bucky cursed, stepping over the puddle and grimacing at the squelch his foot made.

A car pulled up to the intersection. Bucky shook his foot as if that might shake the gallons of water now rooming in his shoe.

The car honked.

Bucky brandished the umbrella at them, his sad attempt at mimicking a middle finger given the circumstances. The car honked again and this time Bucky turned to glare at the driver.

It was Steve. And Steve was glaring right back. He rolled the car window down.

Bucky squelched over to the driver’s side of the old, khaki-colored sedan and leaned down.

“Need some help?” Steve asked.

Bucky bristled at the accusation. Did he really look that pathetic? 

Well, of course he did. He was a one-armed idiot who’d just drenched his foot ten feet from his front door.

“I’m fine,” Bucky snapped and walked away, crossing the street.

Steve’s car made the turn and rolled slowly along with Bucky on the sidewalk. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve cranking down the passenger-side window. 

“Would you just get in?” Steve shouted.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your help!”

“Clearly!” Steve shouted back. He may have said something else, but the rain was spattering hard against Bucky’s umbrella and the wind picked up, whistling in Bucky’s ears. Then, Steve’s car slowly picked up speed until it turned the corner and disappeared.

Bucky fumed all the way to class. 

Of course then he had to sit through the entire Communications course, cold and wet, while Steve sat smug and dry at his desk. This time, Bucky made sure to avoid his eye. Not because he was petty, but because he had notes to take.

By Thursday, there were flood warnings through the city. Gutters ran with dirty brown water carrying refuse to the harbor.

Bucky pulled on his jacket and slung his bag across his chest. He sighed loudly as he stared at the umbrella leaning up against the door. It was wet, meaning Clint had recently come home from his mystery job.

Clint turned his head to look at Bucky. “Ah, shit. Sorry, man. I know you hate that. I could carry the umbrella for you. Walk you to school.”

“Yeah, cause that’s not demeaning at all,” Bucky muttered darkly.

Clint shrugged. “Could pretend I’m your super hot, super successful boyfriend.”

“I’m fine, Clint.”

“You’re right. Better idea.” Clint rolled off the couch and over to the key hooks by the front door. He pulled one off and handed it to Bucky. “Take my car. I won’t need it today.”

“You know I can’t. I never got my license again after…” Bucky trailed off, but Clint shrugged and jingled the keys at Bucky. 

“Fine,” Bucky said, snatching the keys. “But if I wreck your car, I’m not paying for it to get fixed.”

“That thing’s a jalopy,” Clint said. “Please wreck it.”

Even under the protection of the umbrella, the wind was blowing so hard it was basically useless and Bucky was nearly soaked by the time he maneuvered himself and his bag into the car. He struggled to close the umbrella with one hand and he finally got it in.

Driving with one arm wasn’t difficult once you got the hang of it. Bucky could never drive a manual car, but Clint’s automatic was easy, at least when it wasn’t stalling at red lights. 

Fortunately, it made it to campus without a hitch and then it was a short walk to the academic building. Because he’d driven, Bucky arrived significantly earlier than usual. Fury hadn’t opened the classroom yet. So Bucky headed to Fury’s office instead. Maybe he could ask him some questions to bolster the paper due the next day regarding the use of state-mandated curriculums.

Fury’s door was half-closed when Bucky arrived and Fury was speaking in a low voice. Technically his office hours didn’t start until after class, but he’d been known to take early birds, too. With their midterm presentations – a 10-minute speech about someone who inspires them – approaching rapidly, Fury was getting more and more visitors. Bucky spent a few hours every Thursday helping out after his classes during Fury’s office hours and several students had asked for Bucky specifically, which was heartening.

Bucky took a seat on the old bench outside Fury’s office, opened his phone, and swiped through his apps absentmindedly. 

“–a different section, then!” 

Bucky’s head snapped up as the other voice in the office rose. It was Steve.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I only teach one other section and it’s filled to capacity,” Fury said, voice measured and even.

“What if I found someone who was willing to switch?” Steve asked. He sounded upset, desperate even and Bucky’s heart dropped into his stomach. Steve wanted to transfer _because of him_.

Bucky wanted to leave, knew that this was none of his business and that if Steve came out of the office, he’d see Bucky and know that he heard, but Bucky was frozen to his seat.

“I think you would be hard-pressed to find someone who was willing to exchange their class for an 8 a.m. class, not to mention that most – if not all – of my other students are traditional and have other classes to think about and fit in their schedules. I’m not saying you can’t ask, but it is a long-shot. Maybe if you told me what the problem was –,” Fury implored lightly.

“Thank you for your time,” Steve cut in and before Bucky could even look away, pretend to have just arrived or at least not to have heard, Steve was standing outside the office door, face red and embarrassed, glaring at Bucky.

“Barnes, you’re here early,” Fury noted, stepping out behind Steve.

“Yeah, I –” Bucky stopped when Steve turned on his heel and marched away. Fury quirked an eyebrow at his retreating form and then something seemed to dawn on him.

“You have a minute, Barnes?” Fury asked, stern and purposefully even.

Bucky withered. “Yeah,” he said weakly.

After they settled in, it took another long moment of uncomfortable silence before Fury asked, “Care to tell me why one of my students just asked if he could drop a class after the add/drop period and how it seems to be because of you?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from the rain. “Look, sir, I swear it was nothing. I mean, okay.” Bucky let out a breath. “We live in the same building – Steve and I, I mean. And I sort of… bought something from him. And then it… well, shit happened and my roommate and I were trying to convince him of… something… and he thought we were yanking his chain or something, but we _weren’t_ , I swear. Except now he thinks I’m just some asshole and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.”

Fury nodded a few times. “I think I understand,” Fury said. 

“You do?”

“Why don’t you just tell him the truth?”

“The… what?” Bucky asked.

“The truth. Just tell him you had a bad trip, you didn’t mean to do whatever it is you did when you were high and –”

“ _What?!_ ” Bucky cried out.

“If he’s a dealer, I think he’d understand,” Fury pointed out.

“He’s not my–! I don’t do drugs, sir! I don’t… I’ve never – well, not never, but, that’s not what – that’s not what happened!”

Fury looked unconvinced.

“Okay, look,” Bucky said. “I bought a sword from Steve. A _sword_. And when I brought the sword home, weird shit started happening. It was probably a coincidence, I don’t know. But it freaked me out and when I tried to tell Steve about it, he thought I was lying, trying to make him look stupid or something, I don’t know. And now he won’t talk to me.”

“A sword,” Fury repeated.

“A sword.”

“What kind of sword?”

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “It’s not a _euphemism_ , I swear. It’s just a sword. A big, ugly metal thing with a hilt and a blade and everything. I swear. It’s got, like, a red jewel shaped like a star on the bit at the bottom.”

“The pommel.”

“Sure, the pommel. Whatever. It’s a sword. Not drugs.”

Fury nodded, which Bucky hoped meant that he believed him. 

“I’ll get it sorted,” Fury said.

  


* * *

  


“You’re gonna do fine, Peter. Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so worried,” Bucky said. He handed Peter back his typed-out speech.

Peter shrugged as he stuck the papers in his bookbag. “I gotta get really good grades if I’m gonna get into a bioengineering program. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have you look it over.”

“Once, maybe. This is the third time we’ve talked,” Bucky pointed out with a smile. “You got nothing to worry about. Fury’s fair. Just don’t go under 10 minutes and you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, teach,” Peter said and left the office, closing the door halfway behind him.

Bucky moved the stack of quizzes back in front of him and clicked his red pen. Fury’s desk didn’t offer much room for anything, so Bucky had done his best to make himself something of a space to do the grading. 

There was a knock on the door. Bucky was surprised. Usually the students told Fury or Bucky ahead of time that they planned to stop by so they would know to be at the office or if you were Peter Parker, they assumed you’d show up anyway.

“Come in,” Bucky said. There was a pause. Maybe they hadn’t heard him. Bucky got up and pushed open the door all the way. There was no one there. But walking away down the hall was a familiar blond head.

“Hey!” Bucky called out.

Steve froze. The hall was empty; it was close to 5 o’clock and there were very few evening Comm courses. Steve turned around and took a few tentative steps back toward Bucky.

“I was looking for Dr. Fury. He said he’d be here,” Steve said. Even from this distance, Bucky could see the tips of Steve’s ears were bright red. Bucky had come to associate that with any number of Steve’s emotions, but mostly embarrassment or anger. 

“He left for the day. Family is coming into town tomorrow or something. It’s just me.” Bucky schooled his features into his best nonpartisan, indifferent look he usually reserved for high school students he really didn’t like but still had to treat with respect. In this case, he just really didn’t want Steve to run away. “Can I help you with something?” Bucky asked.

Steve hesitated.

“If it’s about this morning – transferring into a different section – you shouldn’t. Not on my account, anyway. I really didn’t… Don’t mean to…” Bucky sighed. “I just mean that we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Yeah, that happens when you start off by mocking someone.”

“I didn’t mock you!” Bucky snapped, then took a sharp breath. “Sorry. But I’m serious. We weren’t being mean – me and Clint, I mean. We’re not like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve said.

“Look, I’m trying, here!”

“And I’m not?” Steve bit back.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment. 

“I offered you a ride that you were clearly too good to take,” Steve continued. “So, I got the message. You don’t want to be near me. And you know what? Ditto, pal.”

Bucky groaned. “The car wasn’t… I wasn’t turning down the ride because of _you_ ,” Bucky said. “I was turning it down because _I’m_ an idiot. Shit. Look, I’ve got some issues with letting people help me because of my arm, okay? I thought you felt bad for me.”

Steve stood up straighter and furrowed his brow. He walked closer to Bucky so at least they weren’t shouting across the hall.

“I did, but it had nothing to do with your arm. You’d basically just stepped into a pond of freezing water right in front of me. I’d have to be a real asshole not to offer you a ride.”

“Yeah, well, sorry for snapping at you.”

Steve shook his head and pushed back the hair in front of his eyes. “Well, I can’t transfer anyway. No one was willing to trade. And I have to finish this class. I came to… I came to ask Fury for help. With the speech,” Steve said. His eyes were narrowed slightly behind the black frames of his glasses.

“I can help. I want to help.” 

Steve stared at Bucky a little longer before finally nodding. “Fine,” he said.

Bucky stepped back and motioned to Fury’s office. Bucky closed the door behind them and took a seat behind his desk. He quickly tidied the quizzes he’d been grading and pushed them off to the side, then he leaned back. “So, what did you need help with?”

Steve dropped his messenger bag on the ground by his feet. He laughed humorlessly and said, “Are you serious? You’ve heard me in class.”

Bucky shrugged. “You get nervous in front of people. That’s an easy fix.”

Steve frowned at Bucky. “If it were so _easy_ , don’t you think I would’ve done it by now? If it were _easy_ , I wouldn’t have to take this class in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not taking this class for shits and giggles, you know. I have to give a speech at the Annual Reuben Awards gala. I won and I wasn’t going to go at all, but Sam convinced me to take this class, see if I could improve my speaking skills.”

“Congrats. I’m not sure how impressed to be. I don’t know much about the, um, Reuben Award?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. But I still have to speak in front of a thousand people in Manhattan this upcoming May.”

“Well, you speak just fine one-on-one.”

“You’ve got some masterful deduction skills.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, I hate to say it, but the best way to get over it is to just practice.”

Steve scowled at the floor. “I can barely stand getting up in front of a class of 19-year-olds once a week and you want me to do it _more often_?” Steve asked, exasperated.

“Yup. And you can start by practicing in front of me. You bring your speech?”

Steve’s jaw shifted and he nodded sharply. Eventually, he pulled his printed speech out.

“I had complete heart block, an undeveloped lung, and 36 different medical conditions when I was born,” Steve read off the stapled pack of papers.

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathed.

Steve looked up from his speech and glared at Bucky.

Bucky held up his hand. “Sorry. Continue.”

Steve talked about his life growing up chronically ill and how his mom died when he was 6 years old. How that year he nearly died, but then his mother’s brother, Timothy “Dum-Dum” Dugan, and his wife took him in, even though they were well over 60 at the time and already had grown-up kids of their own. Steve detailed his life with Dum-Dum where he went from constantly sick and homebound to being able to attend public school for the first time, to his foray into drawing and subsequent application to art school where he attended on a full scholarship – all of which he attributed to Dum-Dum. Steve recounted some of the war stories Dum-Dum told him and mentioned the Howling Commandos which were a part of the Shield knitting group Bucky had seen before.

His voice wavered slightly, although Bucky guessed it had more to do with the emotional impact of telling the story than his nervousness.

Seven minutes into his speech, Steve was recounting a day spent at Coney Island with Dum-Dum when a someone slammed hard into the other side of the door.

“What the hell was that?” Steve asked.

“Dunno. Peter, if that’s you, fuck off! I already told you your speech was fine!” Bucky called out. He waited for a response, but no one said anything, so Bucky motioned at Steve to continue. 

Steve opened his mouth to continue when it happened again. Something slammed hard into the door.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck?” Bucky said and got up. He opened the door but no one was there. Then, he looked down and yelped. The sword lay on the ground, blade slick with rain. Bucky slammed the door and locked it from the inside and then scrambled for his phone.

“What, what is it?” Steve asked, standing up. His eyes were wide and terrified.

Bucky shook his head, speechless as his fingers shook, fumbling for Clint’s phone number. Finally, he got it and pressed call. 

“Bucky, what’s going on?” Steve asked desperately.

Bucky shook his head again.

“Is it a gunman?” he asked, voice low.

“No, no,” Bucky said, although he suddenly wondered if he had endangered others in the building by leaving the sword out there.

Then, the sword slammed into the door again, making the hinges on the old office door creak and Bucky decided that no, the sword was just after him. 

“Then what the fuck is that?” Steve shouted.

The phone rang and rang but Clint didn’t pick up. Bucky tried once more to no avail before giving up and shooting him a text: _911\. SWORD HERE AT SCHOOL. HLEP._

“Fuck this,” Steve said and reached for the door handle.

“No!” Bucky screamed and jumped in front of him blocking the way.

“Then tell me what the hell is going on or I’m going to call the police!” 

The police. Maybe the police could help. Or maybe they’d see exactly what Steve saw last time – an immobile sword and a psychotic man swearing it was trying to kill him. 

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. He stared him in the eyes and implored him to believe Bucky when he said, “Steve, it’s here. The sword is here. And I think it wants to kill me.”

Steve looked shocked, then angry, then hurt. If Bucky hadn’t been having a panic attack, he might have burst into tears and begged Steve to forgive him, the look was so awful. It was like Bucky had broken his already weak trust.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Steve hissed and even though Bucky knew he shouldn’t, he felt himself back away from the door.

Steve grabbed his bag, unlocked the door, and opened it. There, on the floor, was the sword, as innocuous as ever.

“I hope you’re real happy with yourself,” Steve spat. “I bet you think this is so _fucking_ funny. Laughing at the guy who –” But Bucky never got to hear what Steve thought Bucky thought of him because the sword rose up slowly and came hurtling toward Bucky in the office. Bucky ducked just in time, the sword point digging itself into the wall of Fury’s office.

“Shit. Run!” Bucky shouted and pushed a wide-eyed, speechless Steve out in front of him through the office door and into the hall. Bucky turned and slammed the door shut. He dug in his pocket for the office key Fury had given him at the start of his TA-ing and fumbled for the lock.

“Can’t it get through locks?!” Steve asked desperately.

“It seems to slow it down!” Bucky finally got the key in and tried to turn it, but it stuck. “Oh, come on you stupid –”

The door banged open, knocking Bucky on his ass. The sword hung in mid-air and its point swiveled toward Bucky. 

“Hey! Uh, sword!” Steve shouted.

The sword’s point swiveled back toward Steve.

“What are you doing?” Bucky hissed, voice high with fear.

“Distracting it?” Steve replied, never looking away from the sword.

Suddenly, the sword shot at Steve, but Steve had been ready and he dove to the side. The sword crashed into the far wall and fell with a clatter to the floor.

Steve scrambled to his feet and rushed over to Bucky. He held out a hand, which Bucky took gratefully. His legs were shaking when he stood up.

“We need to go,” Bucky said.

“But what about the sword? It could hurt someone. We can’t just leave it here!”

“Well, what do you suggest? You wanna go over there and grab it, be my guest!” 

The sword rattled on the ground, the metal loud on the tiled floor. 

“I’m calling the police,” Steve said and pulled out his phone. 

Bucky eyed the sword warily as it vibrated menacingly ten feet away. “Yeah, call the police. I’m sure they’ll believe us. You believed me and Clint, after all.”

Steve gave Bucky an angry look. “How’d you expect me to believe that a sword had come to life and tried to kill you?! That’s not something that _happens_ in the real world!”

“Oh, you made it very clear what you thought about killer swords and their existence!” Bucky snapped back. “I’m just pointing out that the police probably aren’t going to be any better!”

“I’d rather be accused of being crazy than die here –!” 

“Steve, duck!” Bucky shouted as the sword rose quickly and streaked straight toward Steve’s back. Bucky shoved Steve aside, putting himself in the direct path of the sword. He stepped back and shot his hand out. He felt metal against his hand, but then the sword suddenly stopped mid-flight and clattered to the floor.

Bucky whimpered and forced himself to breathe.

“Bucky, Bucky! Are you okay? Jesus, why’d you _do_ that? You could’ve died!” Steve was in front of Bucky now, staring up at him with wide, blue eyes. 

“I… I’m okay,” Bucky croaked out.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” Bucky said.

“It stopped. It just stopped suddenly,” Steve said, staring at the sword by Bucky’s feet.

“I know,” Bucky said. 

He bent over and reached out for the sword. It vibrated.

“Bucky, what are you doing?!” Steve asked.

“I think it’s okay.” Bucky wrapped his hand around the grip and the sword stilled in his hand. He waited for something to happen, for the sword to change its mind and go for his throat, but nothing happened. 

“We should go,” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, eyes still wide and staring at the sword in Bucky’s hand. “Where are you going to put it?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to do something with it.” Bucky grabbed his bag from Fury’s office and started walking toward the stairs that led to the front door of the building and out onto campus. “It was in the car. I forgot. It had been so quiet after those first couple nights after we put it in Clint’s car and then I borrowed it this morning. I didn’t think. Jesus.”

“Okay, well, let’s keep it there for now until we figure out what to do.”

Bucky nodded in agreement as they made their way outside. At least it had stopped raining. 

Bucky knew he must look bizarre toting a medieval sword across campus toward the parking garage, but there were enough D&D nerds and LARPers around for it not to be too much a surprise. Besides, it was getting dark and campus was nearly empty.

“I thought the sword really hurt you,” Steve said, breaking the silence just as Bucky spotted Clint’s car.

Bucky looked down at his hand gripping the sword. “Yeah, me too,” he agreed, amazed. 

He had felt the sword touch his hand. It should have sliced him open going at that speed, but he was fine. But that wasn’t what surprised him most. When the sword had hurtled toward him, on instinct Bucky had thrust out both of his hands – missing and not – and the sword had stopped. But it wasn’t his right hand that had touched the sword, it had been his left. As the prosthetic had strained uselessly against his side, he swore he had felt it, felt _something_ that he hadn’t in nearly seven years.

Even now, gripping the sword tightly in his right hand, he could feel a tingling sensation where his left arm should have been.

Bucky unlocked Clint’s car and popped the trunk. He placed the sword there and got in the car. Steve climbed in, too.

“You didn’t drive today?” Bucky asked. 

“I did, but I’m not leaving you alone with that thing,” Steve said, buckling his seat belt. “What if it attacks you while we’re driving?”

Bucky stopped himself from pointing out that if the sword attacked him while he drove, Steve would be in danger, too, and instead focused on getting home.

Bucky parked in the alley beside their apartment building and turned off the car. Steve was typing something on his phone. 

“Give me your number,” Steve said. “In case something happens and you need to reach me.”

“You gonna come save me?” Bucky asked with a small smile. Steve scowled at him, so Bucky rolled his eyes and recited his phone number.

Steve typed something into his phone and Bucky’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

“I sent you a text,” Steve said. “Thanks for driving. You’re gonna leave the sword in the car, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, it stayed in here for weeks before. Until we figure out what to do with it, I think it’s our best bet.”

Steve nodded. “Right. Well, um, thanks.”

“Sure.”

“No, I mean, um, thanks for saving me. You shouldn’t have done that, but… yeah. Thanks.” Steve stared down at his lap.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said.

“We should go. Being in the car with that thing is sort of freaking me out,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed.

They took the stairs slowly, both exhausted from their near-death experience. “Sorry I didn’t get to help you with your speech,” Bucky said when they made it to the landing where his apartment door was.

Steve laughed. “After that, giving a speech should be a cinch. Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll practice, like you said.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. If you need any help, you know where I live.” He motioned at the apartment door. Steve waved and continued up to his floor.

Bucky hung Clint’s keys up by the door and noticed Clint’s jacket was gone. He’d said he wasn’t working today, so maybe he’d gone out instead. Usually he’d shoot Bucky a text if that were the case, but he hadn’t heard from him all day. Bucky dug his phone out of his pocket and saw Steve’s text. It was simply an emoji of a sword. Bucky snorted a laugh and sent a thumbs up emoji back before adding Steve to his contacts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying the moment he’d touched the sword over and over again in his head, trying to convince himself that in the heat of the moment he’d somehow mistaken what he’d felt. But he knew that wasn’t true. His left hand had definitely touched that sword and that sword had reacted to it. Even now, laying in bed and staring up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, Bucky’s left arm was tingling. This wasn’t like a phantom itch. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. It was like his arm had fallen completely asleep, numb but not gone. Bucky reached over and rubbed the scarring to convince himself it wasn’t true. His heart dropped when there was nothing but waxy flesh at the end of his shoulder. He sighed and rolled over, tapping on his phone. 2:13 a.m. 

Bucky got up, went to his dresser, and pulled on a hoodie. Clint still wasn’t back and Bucky had half a mind to be worried about it, but he’d focus on that later. He’d already sent Clint a text saying he was fine. He grabbed Clint’s car key and heading downstairs. 

It was bitingly cold outside. Bucky’s breath fogged yellow in the ambient light from the streetlamp above Clint’s car in the alley. Bucky unlocked the trunk.

He had half expected the sword to be missing, but there it was looking as innocent as a sword that had tried to kill him several times could possibly look. He’d never taken time to really study the thing and it was quite beautiful. Bucky didn’t pretend to know the first thing about swords, but it looked impressive. Nearly four feet in length with a polished silver blade. A bright, nearly luminescent jewel was set into the pommel at the bottom, the only outstanding decoration on the sword. The grip was black and looked like hard leather, although it could have been brand new; there wasn’t a scratch on it or even wear from being held. 

Bucky felt the unfamiliar tingling in his left arm again and was suddenly struck with the desire to reach out and grab it. He resisted for a moment, just a moment. He imagined stretching his left arm out, his body shifting in a familiar way to compensate for the lack of weight. He imagined his fingers, there, touching the hilt.

The sword moved. Just a fraction of an inch, but enough that Bucky backed away in fear. He got his breath back under control and moved forward. He tried again, reaching out with his mind and hand. This time, he reached out and imagined his fingers curling around the grip of the sword and pulling. 

The sword moved with ease, following exactly where Bucky had imagined it might if he really were gripping it. There was a glimmer, something slightly opaque that drew Bucky’s eye away from the sword and to his left arm. His heart skipped a beat. He could see his arm, or something that maybe resembled an arm. It was blurry and translucent, but the shifting outline was exactly where his arm might have been. Bucky let out a choked sound of delight, the image flickered out, and the sword dropped with a clang into the trunk of the car.

“Bucky?”

Bucky whipped around, heart beating fast. 

“Steve?”

Steve pushed his glasses up his nose. He was wearing a hoodie and loose-fitting jeans. A blue knitted hat with a bobble on top was pulled over his ears. 

“What are you doing out here? Were you attacked?” Steve asked, eyes flicking toward the car.

Bucky looked back at the sword and shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine. What are _you_ doing out here?”

Steve shrugged, then walked closer to Bucky. “I couldn’t sleep. Took a walk to grab my car on campus.”

Bucky frowned. “Is that something you usually do? Go out on the streets of Brooklyn at 2 in the morning?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin defiantly. “I can take care of myself. And you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. A large part of him wanted to keep this to himself, in part because he couldn’t quite believe it was happening, but also because this was something no one else could possibly understand. But then he saw the concern and determination in Steve’s eyes and relented.

“C’mere,” Bucky said. 

Steve came over to stand in front of the trunk with Bucky, both staring down at the sword.

“What am I looking at?” Steve asked. He glanced up at Bucky who was struck by how close they were and how warm he suddenly felt.

Bucky cleared his throat nervously. “Watch,” he said. He focused again on his left arm, imagining this time his fingers wrapping around the hilt and lifting it up and out of the trunk. The sword listened easily, sliding out of the trunk.

Steve scrambled back, but when Bucky didn’t react, Steve stopped. His eyes trailed down the sword and over to Bucky’s left side. Any other time, Bucky might have felt self-conscious. Only Clint got to see him without a prosthesis these days. But this was different.

“Bucky,” Steve said breathlessly. “Your _arm_.”

Bucky looked down and the opaque visage had appeared, shimmering and fluttering like it was made of smoke or water. 

“Are you holding the sword?” Steve asked.

“I think so,” Bucky said and moved the arm – his arm – and the sword moved with it. The tingling sensation, he realized, had now been replaced with a warm, soft droning. Like his arm had been wrapped in a massage chair or something.

“How’s that possible?” Steve asked in wonder. He took a tentative step toward Bucky.

Bucky let out a breath. “You’re askin’ the wrong guy, pal.” 

Bucky was swinging the sword slowly through the air when headlights cut down the street. Bucky jumped in surprise, the sword clanged to the ground, and Steve leaped forward to grab Bucky’s right arm. “You okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. The headlights didn’t pass the alley and instead stopped in front of the building. Bucky peered around the corner at the same time Clint looked up after passing money through the window of a yellow cab. Clint raised a hand in greeting and wandered over.

“Everything okay?” Clint asked.

“Did you get my text from earlier?” Bucky asked. “We were attacked at school. Forgot the sword was in the car.”

“Oh yeah,” Clint said thoughtfully. “My phone died, so no. Guess you’re alive, though. Is that why you’re outside now?”

“Well, I, uh…” Bucky glanced at Steve who shrugged minutely. “I gotta show you something,” Bucky said.

Clint had been there from the start. There was no reason to keep this from him now, Bucky reasoned. 

“Oh shit, what happened? Did it attack you again?” Clint asked, spotting the sword on the ground outside of his car.

“Just watch,” Bucky replied and bent over to grab it. This time, it was like second nature. His invisible fingers wrapped around the grip and the warm, buzzing feeling seeped through his left arm. It was euphoric feeling anything at all, let alone something so strangely wonderful.

“Well, fuck me,” Clint said. 

Bucky’s arm flickered into view, causing Clint to shout, “Fuck, you have an arm!”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Bucky said, moving it slowly with the sword. “It’s like, if you stare at it, it sort of disappears, but then you look away and you can see it.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed.

“I think you should put it down,” Clint said.

Bucky and Steve looked at Clint in surprise. “What?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t think it’s safe. You should put it down.”

“What do you mean not safe? I can control the sword!”

“You _think_ you can control the sword. Buck, that sword is haunted or possessed or _something_ and what if it possesses you? That might not even be your arm!”

“It’s my arm,” Bucky said, unwarranted anger building up in his chest.

“How do you know?” Clint asked, voice forced and even.

“Because I can feel it!” Bucky snapped angrily. Suddenly, the sword fell, landing with a crash on the pavement.

Clint raised an eyebrow as if that proved anything. 

“Look, it’s not gonna hurt me or possess me. That’s stupid,” Bucky said. He bent over and grabbed the sword with his right hand. 

“Bucky,” Clint said, his voice full of warning. 

“Clint,” Bucky replied with a frown. He tossed the sword in the trunk and shut it. He tossed the keys to Clint. “There,” Bucky said. 

Clint caught the keys. He sighed. “Would you at least be open to bringing the sword to someone who might know something?”

“If you mean Peggy, I’m telling you, she doesn’t know anything,” Steve said. “She just made up stories to scare Sam because he’s a huge scaredy-cat.”

“Not Peggy,” Clint said. “I know someone. Someone who sort of, uh, specializes in this kind of thing.”

“You _know_ someone?” Bucky asked in disbelief. “Mind telling me why you didn’t bring this up earlier?”

Clint looked like it pained him to say, “She’s gonna kill me.”

  


* * *

  


Steve, Bucky, and Clint climbed into Clint’s car. Steve took the backseat, which seemed like the gracious thing to do, but Bucky knew the passenger seat was constantly sticky and the seatbelt didn’t work.

“Mind telling us where we’re going?” Steve asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint replied.

“Not the answer I’d like after climbing into a car with basically two complete strangers and a freaky sword,” Steve said.

“I’m your landlord,” Clint pointed out.

Bucky laughed and then turned to Clint who looked intently at the road. “Seriously, Clint, where are we going?”

“Look,” Clint said, turning down a residential street Bucky had never been down before, “the less you know, the better. Trust me on that.”

Bucky frowned. “This isn’t illegal, is it? Because that’s the kind of shit you say before doing something illegal.”

“Not illegal,” Clint said. Then added thoughtfully, “At least, I don’t think so.”

“That’s heartening,” Steve said.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty and Bucky guessed they had to be somewhere in Sheepshead Bay. “I haven’t been this far south since junior high. We took a field trip to Coney Island,” Bucky remarked.

“I threw up on the Cyclone once and never went back,” Steve said.

“You’re not missing much,” Clint said. “Jam-packed with tourists all the time now.”

The car gave a sudden jolt and smoke started pouring out of the engine, flooding the windshield. Clint stopped the car, cursing as he carefully maneuvered the car to the side of the road. The car gave one last shudder before turning off.

“Aww, car,” Clint said sadly, patting the steering wheel.

“Are we stuck? How far is… wherever we’re going?” Steve asked, leaning forward between the seats.

“Not far. We can walk it,” Clint said and popped the trunk.

Bucky made to grab the sword out of the back, but Clint beat him to it, giving him a pointed look. Bucky rolled his eyes, but decided not to push it. It was 3 a.m. The last thing they needed was to get the cops called on them because they were fighting over a sword in the middle of the night.

“C’mon, it’s a few blocks this way,” Clint said and started walking, keeping the sword close by his side.

They walked quickly for ten minutes or so before Clint finally stopped at the bottom of the stairs of an unassuming brownstone townhouse. 

“She’s gonna kill me,” Clint said weakly before walking up the stairs and hammering loudly on the door.

Five long minutes passed in silence. A light flicked on above them and the door opened to reveal a woman. She looked to be the same age as Bucky, possibly younger, with messy, red hair wearing a Wonder Woman onesie. She was frowning deeply. 

“This had better be good, Clint. I was _sleeping_ ,” she said.

“Guys, this is Natasha. My boss,” Clint said, gesturing at the woman.

“Who the fuck are these guys?” Natasha asked, turning her attention to Bucky and Steve, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Roommate,” Clint said, pointing to Bucky. “And guy we may have bought a haunted sword off of.” Clint pointed at Steve who raised a hand in greeting.

Clint lifted the sword a little to show Natasha and she backed up a step.

“Jesus,” Natasha said. “Come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter NATASHA.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha’s townhouse was fairly unassuming. She had plain furniture and minimal décor. The framed pictures were impersonal but not artsy, either. It looked more like a showroom than a lived-in home.

However, one thing did stick out about the place: it was covered in cats. Bucky couldn’t count them all. Every time he thought he might have seen the last of them, there were three more hidden on top of couches or tails swishing from behind curtains. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say twenty or more, but it was hard to tell and he’d only seen the living room and foyer so far.

“Jesus, Nat, can’t you get something other than cats?” Clint asked.

“Cats are easy,” Natasha replied, shooing a few cats off the couch so Bucky, Steve, and Clint could sit. Natasha curled up in the armchair across from them. “Oh, do you guys want anything?” she asked, looking at Steve and Bucky in turn.

They declined.

“Now, what the hell is going on and tell me quick because that thing is throwing me off like you wouldn’t believe,” she said, pointing at the sword leaning against the couch next to Clint.

“So it _is_ possessed?” Clint asked.

“Hard to say. Let me see it.” Natasha put her legs down and reached out for the sword. Clint handed it to her.

“Sorry, but, who are you?” Bucky asked.

Natasha looked up for a moment before returning her gaze to the sword. “Natasha.”

“Okay, but how are you gonna help us? Are you, like, a psychic or something?”

Natasha snorted. “Psychic. God, no. Now shut up so I can focus.”

Bucky glared at her, but she wasn’t looking and the effect was lost. 

Natasha held the sword in both hands, the hilt and blade resting on the flat of her palms. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply and evenly for a few, long minutes. A long-haired black cat with bright green eyes sniffed at Bucky’s ear from the back of the couch. He scratched under its chin and it started purring. Then it jumped onto Bucky’s lap where it curled up. Bucky pet it on the head. Steve scooted a little farther away. Bucky glanced over at him in question. He mouthed “allergic” to which Bucky nodded in understanding. It was a wonder Steve wasn’t going into shock with all the cats around. Steve might have been wondering the same thing, looking around at the numerous felines.

Then, a few things happened at once: the cat on Bucky’s lap dug its claws into Bucky’s thigh causing him to yelp, Natasha gasped, the sword clattered onto her hardwood floor, and the room around them changed. One minute, it had been a generic, modest townhouse with conservative décor, the next Bucky was looking at dark red walls lined with shelves and bottles and boxes of innumerable items. 

Even the couch they were sitting on had turned into a black and taupe-striped loveseat. They appeared to be in the backroom of a shop, noted by the labels placed on most of the shelves denoting a name and price. Bucky looked at the item in the jar to his right sitting on an endtable labeled “black beetle eyes”. It was 20 cents an ounce.

Steve was likewise shocked, mouth agape, staring wide-eyed around them. Clint, on the other hand, looked unperturbed by the whole thing. He was rather more worried about Natasha who was staring down at the sword with a frown on her face.

“Sorry about that,” Natasha said. “It’s hard to keep that spell going at the best of times. And that sword is really something.”

“Did it hurt you?” Clint asked.

“No. Just surprised me, that’s all.” She sighed, bent over, and grabbed the sword. Her squashy armchair had become a high-backed chair with twice as much cushioning. 

The black cat that had startled Bucky padded up and rubbed against his leg.

“Okay, is someone going to explain what the _fuck_ just happened?” Bucky said desperately.

Natasha and Clint shared a brief look before Clint turned to Bucky. He folded his hands in his lap and said, “Natasha’s a witch. I work for her. Sort of. I mean, she’s not my boss.”

“I’m totally your boss,” Natasha cut in.

Clint frowned, but didn’t reply. “She doesn’t usually deal with this kind of thing, but I thought if anyone were to know if this sword would hurt you, it’d be her.”

“So, what’d you find out?” Steve asked, leaning forward. “Is it possessed?”

Natasha hummed and held the sword out. When Clint reached out to take it, she took it back. “It’s for him,” she said and looked at Bucky.

Bucky swallowed nervously and took the sword.

“It’s possessed, yeah, but I don’t know by what. Whatever it is, it wants him,” she said, pointing at Bucky.

“‘Want’ as in ‘wants to murder and maim’ or what?” Clint asked.

Natasha shrugged. “Hard to say without asking it.”

“Can we do that? Can we ask it?” Steve asked.

Natasha studied Steve for a long moment. Bucky could practically feel him blushing. “We could, although I’d rather do it when I’m not exhausted, just in case.” She turned her attention back to Clint. “Come back tomorrow?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. Any particular time?”

Natasha glanced over somewhere behind Bucky. Bucky turned and found himself looking at an ancient grandfather clock with about ten more hands than it needed, the pendulum swinging in an irregular pattern. 

“You wake me up before 10 and I’m going to be pissed,” Natasha finally said. “You know your way out.” She got up and the others followed suit. The foyer had turned into a shopfront looking out onto the quiet Sheepshead residential road. 

Compared to the backroom, the front was practically normal, just a desk for reception with a few tchotchkes and odds and ends on shelves of various sizes and heights and functions. 

Natasha poked her head back in when they reached the door. “And Clint,” she said with a devilish smile. “You’re in deep shit for this.”

Bucky heard Clint whimper softly before they headed back out into the night. Bucky turned back when they were outside, but the shopfront was gone and he was once again staring at the frontside of a brownstone, inconspicuous and nonspecific. 

Bucky had forgotten in the excitement that they didn’t have a working car to get back home with. Clint called a cab.

The cab driver took one look at Bucky with the sword, shrugged, and asked where they wanted to go. Clint gave him their address from the passenger seat while Bucky and Steve climbed into the back. Bucky let the sword rest in the far left seat so he was forced to sit in the middle, Steve pressed against his right side.

“What a night,” Bucky muttered. 

Steve huffed a laugh in agreement and yawned. They drove in silence. Bucky had so many questions for Clint, but none that would sound sane to a cab driver, so he kept his mouth shut.

They were ten minutes from home when Bucky felt a soft pressure on his shoulder. He looked over to see Steve had fallen asleep with his head on Bucky’s arm. A strange warmth spread through Bucky’s chest and he bit back a smile. 

The cab pulled up to their apartment building too soon in Bucky’s opinion and the lack of movement woke Steve up. He startled away from Bucky. “Sorry,” he said quickly, pushing back his hair. “I guess I was tired. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Bucky assured him.

Clint paid the driver and the cab pulled away. It was half past four in the morning by the time they made it inside the building. They walked up the stairs, too tired to say anything at all to each other. Steve mumbled a good night when Clint and Bucky reached their landing and they all hobbled off to bed.

  


* * *

  


Bucky groaned loudly at his alarm and blindly flapped his hand around until it shut off. He turned over and tried to get back to sleep, but the memories of the previous night flooded his brain. Unable to sleep, he got up, showered, and dressed. There was no way he was going to class, so he sent an e-mail to his professors that he was sick before heading out into the living room.

Clint was still asleep in his room, the sounds of soft snoring slipping past his bedroom door. Bucky slipped on his shoes and left the apartment. He climbed the stairs to Steve’s floor and knocked. Sam opened the door.

“Oh,” Sam said, surprised. “Bucky, right? Hey.”

“Hi. Um, is Steve-?”

“Hey, I’m here!” Steve’s voiced called from inside the apartment.

Sam opened the door to let Bucky in. Their apartment was a mirror image of Peggy’s except the room where she kept her weaponry was another bedroom in their apartment. Steve was sitting on the couch when Bucky walked in, a laptop on his knees.

“Morning,” Steve greeted, glancing up briefly.

“All right, I gotta head out,” Sam announced, pulling on a jacket. “Oh hey,” he said, walking over to Steve. “Meant to tell you. Peggy and Angie decided to take a vacation or something? She said it was pretty last minute and to tell you not to worry, but she doesn’t know when she’ll be back. And the Howlies are joining, apparently. Some sort of group thing, I guess.”

Steve frowned at Sam. “When’d she tell you that?”

“Uh, last night. Around 7 when I got back home.” He laughed at the look of concern on Steve’s face. “It’s no wonder she didn’t wait to tell you. You’re such a worry wart, man,” Sam said and ruffled Steve’s hair affectionately. Bucky was struck by how domestic it was, and realized that he’d been missing something this whole time.

Steve scowled and tried fruitlessly to fix his hair. “Bye, Sam,” he said pointedly.

Sam grinned wide. “Nice seeing you, Bucky,” he added before slipping out.

Steve sighed. “Peggy and Angie leaving, that can’t be a coincidence, right? I mean, the Howling Commandos clearly knew something. I bet Peggy did, too. And now they’re gone? Dammit.”

Bucky shrugged, but his mind was elsewhere. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Oh, you can sit down,” Steve said, motioning toward the spot next to him on the couch. “It’s not even 8 yet and Natasha doesn’t want to see us until 10, right? We have time. I was just doing some research.” 

“Research?” Bucky asked, sitting next to Steve and looking at the laptop screen. It was the Wikipedia entry for witchcraft.

“Yeah, but it’s hard because popular culture is so inundated with magic and ghosts and everything recently, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not.”

“Did you tell Sam?” Bucky asked abruptly.

Steve looked up, surprised. “What? No. I mean, I thought about it,” he said sheepishly. “But, I don’t know if he’d believe me anyway.”

“I just assumed. I mean, it’s okay if you do. I just didn’t want you to think you had to keep stuff from him.”

Steve narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t want all of this to get in the way of… anything,” Bucky continued, feeling way out of his depth.

Steve stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Bucky felt himself turning red. “We’re not together, if that’s what you’re implying,” Steve said.

Bucky physically held back a smile and then chastised himself internally for it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you were...”

Steve shrugged and looked back to his computer. “It’s fine. I’m bi, but I’m so far from being able to hold down a relationship, it doesn’t matter. Believe me, Sam’s tried to set me up. It never ends well.”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat and he had to convince himself that telling Steve he was gay would be way too obvious and a little bit abrasive. Fortunately, he was saved from potentially embarrassing himself and damaging his chances even further by his phone going off.

Clint’s name flashed on the screen and Bucky answered, “Hey.”

“We have to get to Nat’s. _Now._ ”

  


* * *

  


Clint was reticent on the drive over in spite of Steve and Bucky’s questions. At some point they gave up trying, uneasily staring out the window of the cab as they drove to Natasha’s house. A few times Clint would grunt and ask the cab driver if he could go any faster or tap his foot against the door in the silence.

When they finally pulled up, Clint raced out of the car and up to the townhouse, opening the door without knocking. Steve and Bucky followed quickly behind, Bucky grabbing the sword he’d snatch on the way out of the apartment.

Inside Natasha’s shop was a mess. The place had been completely ransacked, shelves knocked down and papers scattered, jars smashed and oozing strange-smelling liquids. Clint wasn’t in the front room, so Bucky and Steve quickly made their way into the back.

The sitting room was possibly worse than the front. The couch had been torn apart, cushions ripped to shreds, feathers from torn pillows littering the floor. Most noticeable of all was the lack of cats. Clint stood in the middle of the chaos, hands behind his head, looking terrified and desperate.

That was when Bucky saw it – a dark red spatter across the back of the couch. Blood. More trailed onto the floor. It didn’t look like much, but in the circumstances, it was horrifying. 

“Clint, I’m sure she’s fine,” Steve said, but Clint didn’t look comforted.

Clint dropped his hands to his sides. “Maybe she’s upstairs. I’ll go– _Nat!_ ” Clint yelled out as an orange tabby cat slinked down the stairs and into the room. Its tail was held high, eyes huge and green. Clint sat down on the floor and let out a choked laugh. “Shit, Nat, I thought you died.”

Bucky frowned, looked around the room, and decided that yes, Clint was talking to the cat. Maybe he’d finally broken, but then again, Natasha was a witch. There was every possibility that the cat really was her. It did look like her, in a weird way.

The cat sat in front of Clint and swished its tail a couple times. 

“What the hell happened?” Clint asked.

If a cat could look annoyed, the orange tabby certainly did and Clint quickly said, “Right, you can’t speak. How much did you take? An hour? Meow for yes, growl for no.”

The cat, to Bucky’s surprise, growled.

“I hope that’s a no and not just your anger at our untimely arrival.”

The cat growled again.

“Three hours?” Clint asked.

The cat meowed.

“Right, well, we’ve got some time, then.”

“Sorry,” Steve interrupted, “but what the hell is going on? Are you telling me that that’s…” He pointed at the cat in disbelief.

Clint sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. “Yeah, she took a short-term glamour to hide from whoever fucked with her shop. I’m assuming the blood isn’t hers?”

The cat – Natasha – growled.

“Nice,” Clint said appreciatively. “Anyway, it should wear off in a couple hours. Not sure how long ago she took the glamour. I’m gonna go lock up the shop. Don’t want whoever did this to come back.” Clint stood up.

“Is that really gonna do anything to stop… whatever did this?” Bucky asked, looking around at the decimated room.

“Probably not,” Clint conceded. “But it’ll make me feel better.” He disappeared into the front room.

“Guess we can clean up a little while we’re waiting?” Steve asked.

Cat-Natasha meowed in approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catasha for your enjoyment.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com), freaking OUT ABOUT THE CIVIL WAR TRAILER OHOGLD GY MY OG D I'M SO UPSET!


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky was tossing a broken jar into one of several big, black garbage bags Clint had found in Natasha’s kitchen when something moved to his left. He glanced over and found himself looking at Natasha – human Natasha – sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

She shook her head and stretched her arms over her head. A few audible pops sounded, causing Clint to look over.

“Nat!” he exclaimed, dropping the broom to the floor and rushing over.

“Thanks for cleaning,” Natasha said. She sounded worn out.

“What the hell happened?” Clint asked. He offered her his hand, which she took gratefully. She folded herself into the high-backed armchair and crossed her arms.

She closed her eyes. “Gimme a second. Haven’t used a glamour in so long, I always forget how much it takes out of you.”

Bucky, Steve, and Clint gathered closer to her, Steve and Bucky taking a seat on the edge of the couch, careful not to touch any of the blood on the back while Clint elected to stand, arms folded across his chest.

“Get me a glass of water, would you?” Natasha asked. She didn’t look at anyone and Clint didn’t seem inclined to move from his post, so Bucky stood and wandered off toward where Clint had gotten the trash bags. The kitchen was moderately sized and, compared to the rest of the house, surprisingly normal. Bucky half-expected to find brains or ears or pickled fingers in the fridge, but instead he found a half-empty pitcher of filtered water. He rifled through the cupboards until he found a glass and poured the water.

Back in the living room, Natasha was looking better already. At least, she had her eyes open. She smiled weakly when Bucky handed her the glass.

“That’s not your blood, right?” Clint asked, gesturing toward the couch. 

Natasha shook her head and drank some water. “No.”

“What happened?” Steve asked in a hushed voice. “Are they gonna come back?”

Again, Natasha shook her head. “They got what they came for,” she said. “And they made pretty damn sure I couldn’t track them, too.”

“Did you know them?” Clint asked.

“Not sure. But there’s one way we can find out.” She looked at the couch. “Clint, you know where my private stores are upstairs?” Clint nodded. “Grab a vial. Also a Q-tip and there’s a hand-held mirror in the bathroom.”

Clint left in a hurry.

“You said they got what they came for,” Steve said. “What was it?”

“Well, a lot. Which is smart, actually. Wanted to throw me off their scent. They wanted to make me think this was a hit for monetary reasons or anything other than what it was,” Natasha said.

“Which was what, exactly?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t want to say until I know for sure, but if I’m right, it means trouble.”

Clint returned a minute later with the requested ingredients. Natasha took the Q-tip and swirled it around in her water glass. Then, she handed it back to Clint. “Swab the blood on the couch,” she said.

Clint followed her order, Steve and Bucky moving to the side to give him room. Natasha took the Q-tip back once Clint had done as she said and placed it in a little glass vial. Then, she got up and started rooting through the remains of the bottles on the shelves, even toeing a few that had fallen on the ground but hadn’t been picked up by the boys during their cleaning spree. Finally, she gathered a few various-sized jars and containers and returned to her chair. She swept a pile of magazines off the end table by the chair onto the floor and pulled it in front of her. She placed her glass of water, the jars, and the vial with the Q-tip on the table. She motioned at Clint who immediately handed over the hand-held mirror.

She placed the mirror on the table and started opening up the tops of the jars. There were five in total and each one let off an incredibly distinct scent. The first smelled like Christmas – pine and cardamom – and the second like mud and rain. By the fifth, the smells were so thick in the air, it was hard to tell what anything smelled like and Bucky’s head started to pound. 

Natasha poured and sifted tiny portions of the jars – in various states of matter – into the vial with the Q-tip before closing up. After shaking the last bit of powder from the last jar into the vial, she closed them up and the potent smells left almost as quickly. Natasha corked the vial and shook it a few times. It was half-full of a dark-purple liquid and when Natasha uncapped it, a lavender plume shot out of the top. She dug a small finger into the vial and pulled out the Q-tip. She began drawing on the mirror so quickly and with such a practiced hand, Bucky couldn’t have copied it if he wanted to. Finally, she dropped the Q-tip back into the vial, held the mirror in the both hands, and closed her eyes.

Ten long, painstakingly quiet minutes passed before Natasha finally opened her eyes, then sighed at what she saw in the mirror. “Shit,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” Clint asked, coming around the other side to look at the mirror. He paused and frowned at whatever he saw. “Who’s that?”

Natasha slid the mirror onto the table in front of her. Steve and Bucky both stood at the same time, dying to get a look at what was in the mirror.

“His name’s Brock Rumlow,” Natasha said. “And he died four years ago. At least, I thought he died. Clearly I was wrong.” Natasha rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Shit. This is not good.”

The man in the mirror looked to be not much older than Bucky, but with a disgruntled look on his face. He was moving in the mirror, as if they were watching a movie clip of him. His eyes wandered restlessly, although the image was too close to see where he was.

“Why? What’s going on? Who is he?” Clint asked.

“No one, I thought. But…” She hesitated and her eyes scanned the room until they fell on a bookshelf that had mostly been left undisturbed. 

Bucky could see why; it was mostly cookbooks, and they didn’t even look like witch-y cookbooks. They were normal cookbooks, like _Best Southern Cuisine_ and _30-Minute Meals_. On the top shelf there was a row of fiction novels, quite a few by James Patterson. 

Natasha went over to the bookshelf and dragged her finger across the spines on the top shelf until she landed on the thick, white spine of a hardback book. She pulled it down and retreated to her seat.

She placed the book on the table. It was much larger than the average novel and on closer inspection, turned out to be a history book.

“On Witches,” Bucky read out loud. “What is that?”

Natasha held up a finger and flipped through the book until she found what she was looking for. Then, she leaned back in her chair. Bucky, Steve, and Clint all sat on the torn-up couch across from her.

“I met Rumlow years ago when I was looking to buy my own practice,” Natasha said. She smoothed down the front of her shirt absentmindedly. “He was a proprietor of glamoured properties, like this one, and he helped set me up with this place, actually. There aren’t many male witches, you know, and he was… interesting, not to mention my landlord, so he came around quite a bit. We got to talking.

“About a year later, he starts bringing up this coven he’s a part of. I don’t like covens. They’re exclusive and they tend to think they’re better than everyone else because they all, I don’t know, use range-free, grass-fed candles or whatever. It’s total bullshit.”

Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if Natasha had been one of the few witches excluded from a coven, but figured he liked his body intact too much to ask.

“So he starts talking about this coven,” Natasha continued, “and how they’re involved in the spirit business. Now, witchcraft is a fickle thing at the best of times, but most of all when used with spiritual elements. Elements like earth, fire, air, and water are much easier to work with, although their uses are limited. Like, the spell I just used with the mirror. Water could show me what he looked like, or with the right ingredients, where he was, but not what he was thinking or his future plans. 

“Even the best witches have trouble with spiritual magic. So already I was doubtful, and then he invites me to a meeting. Of course I go and it becomes clear right away that something’s not quite right. Above the board, everything they’re doing is totally within regulations.”

“Witches have regulations?” Steve cut in, shocked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” she said. “Otherwise, we’d be running amok without any consequences for our actions.” She shifted slightly in her seat. “The meeting was short and perfunctory. Clearly it was all for show, so I lied to Brock and told him I left something inside the house where the meeting was held and went back in. I tried to eavesdrop on a few of the elders and I didn’t get much, at least I didn’t think I did. All I heard was one word: Hydra.

“I didn’t think much of it at first. Most covens don’t have names. They usually denote themselves by region, but occasional one will be exceptionally imaginative and decide they’re too good for a regional name and they need something better. I thought Hydra was just their secret codename for their coven, but then I got this book.” Natasha tapped a finger on the open page.

“It was written by a friend of mine, Bruce Banner. See, witches don’t like writing down anything, especially not spells. Spellbooks are fairy tales and nothing more. No witch in their right mind would write down their life’s work and expect it not to get stolen. There are too many opportunities for theft in the magic world, so it’s best if your spells are kept up here.” Natasha tapped on her temple with a finger. “Of course, there are simple spells that every witch knows whether passed down by their parents or teacher. But, back to my point: witches don’t write anything down.

“Which is why I laughed when Bruce came to me with his idea to write a history book for witches. If there’s one thing we hate more than writing down spells, it’s writing down our history. Too many feuds, too many bad events – no one wants to remember that, let alone have a record of it. So what he was proposing was basically pissing off every old witch family in the world.

“So, obviously, I signed on to help right away. And the book was published shortly after I went to that meeting. I honestly wasn’t going to read the whole thing. I mean, look at it – it’s a tome! But I was flipping through, when I came to this chapter.” Natasha pointed at the open page. Clint, Steve, and Bucky leaned forward to look. The chapter read: “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich”.

“Are you about to tell us Hitler was a witch?” Steve asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Natasha replied. “But he did employ witches. Every side did – allies included. And no coven was more feared in that time than Hydra.” Natasha turned the book so the three men could see what she was pointing at better. It was an old black and white photo of a group of men, each in officers’ uniforms with various medals and pins and buttons. There were probably 20 or 25 men, stoic and slightly blurry. 

“They were a coven that worked undercover as a Nazi scientific advancement group, but what they were doing was a lot worse,” Natasha said.

“Spirits exist. Ghosts, demons, souls – whatever you want to call them, they’re all the same thing and they are powerful. Usually, they’re harmless and most people don’t even know they exist. But spirits are attracted to objects of importance. They thrive and feed off significance, which is to say those things we as living, breathing animals deem to be important. If a group of people were to believe that specific events throughout their life had some connection to an object – let’s say a house, for instance – then that house would grow more and more significant. A few unfortunate illnesses or deaths, more people believe the house is haunted or possessed or at least that there’s _some_ connection, and spirits flock to the place. If a spirit – or many spirits – gather and feed off an object for so long, they can start controlling that object, but it soon becomes impossible for them to leave, too, and they grow angry and restless.

“That’s where these folks come in.” Natasha turned the page and pointed at a photo. “A coven founded in the late 1800s whose sole purpose was to exorcise spirits, releasing them into whatever plane of existence spirits usually reside in.”

“Spirits are people?” Bucky asked, terrified at the prospect but curious nonetheless. “Is that what happens when we die?”

“Not always,” Natasha replied. “Some people’s spirits hang around for a long time, some for no time at all. It’s hard to say why without talking to the spirit personally. They all have their reasons for staying or going. Sudden deaths or murders, that sort of thing, usually mean the spirit is going to stay for awhile, but not always.” Natasha shrugged. “And spirits aren’t always people. There’s other things out there, too, but I won’t bore you with that.”

“I’ve seen this before,” Steve remarked suddenly, pointing at the new photo. “Look, that’s –”

“Peggy,” Bucky breathed as he followed Steve’s finger toward the familiar face. She was very young and very beautiful, but it was unmistakably Peggy.

“And there’s Dum-Dum,” Steve said, pointing at a burly man with a bowler hat and mustache. “God, he was so young. Says here it was taken in 1943.”

“That’s the SSR,” Natasha said. “The Strategic Scientific Reserve, an antithesis to Hydra. In reality, they acted as the witch police, basically. Kept everyone in line and dealt with those who stepped over it. Hydra was their biggest adversary during the war for their work with spirits. The SSR always one step behind, cleaning up their mess. After the war, they would be known as SHIELD: Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

“Holy shit. So they’re not just a weird knitting club?” Clint asked.

“Don’t be stupid, Clint,” Natasha chastised. “Peggy Carter was a top operative for most of her life.”

The more Bucky looked at the photo, the more he started to recognize the faces in it. The entire knitting club was in attendance, including one very familiar face. “Who is that?” Bucky asked, pointing at a grinning, mustached man in the front row. There were upwards of 40 people in the photograph, so it took a while for Steve to make out the blurry face.

“Howard,” Steve finally replied.

“He looks exactly like my boss, Tony,” Bucky remarked.

“Howard has a son named Tony. Must be the same,” Steve said.

“Small fuckin’ world,” Bucky muttered.

“Getting smaller,” Clint said. “Look at these two.” He pointed to two men in the very back row, both grinning wide as if laughing at some spectacular joke. 

“Whoa,” Steve said, peering closer. “They look like –”

“Us,” Bucky finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next cover the basic lore of this universe. AND we get some much-anticipated answers re: that haunted sword in the next chapter.
> 
> I've also officially won NaNoWriMo! I just wrote the last MAJOR scene, so now it's just the little things I have to write. I'd guess this story will clock in at around 60,000 words when all is said and done.
> 
> Now that I'm not writing like a fiend, I can reread these chapters and post more often. I think probably every other day. :)
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)!


	10. Chapter 10

“So what was Hydra doing that was so bad?” Clint asked.

“Hold on, can we get back to the fact that our doppelgangers are hanging out together in 1943?” Bucky cut in.

“That theory that spirits are attracted to items of significance? Hydra used that to their benefit,” Natasha said, ignoring Bucky. “They focused their collective energy on weapons of their design until a spirit wandered near and then they would bind the spirit to the weapon. This was remarkably more different and more violent than if a spirit were to possess an object on its own volition. Because of this, the spirits and therefore the weapons themselves became more powerful but also more volatile. Oftentimes, the weapons wouldn’t work or would backfire, causing them more damage than it was worth. In those cases, they threw the weapon to the side, started again. And it was SHIELD’s job to clean up the mess left behind, make sure those bound spirits were released.

“According to Bruce, Hydra made anywhere from 100 to 500 weapons during their time in power, some of which were never found. We only have notes and coded journal entries that tell us they existed at one point. SHIELD took out a lot, but their notes are even scarcer than Hydra’s.

“Hydra fell with the end of the war and SHIELD made sure of it. Or at least, that’s what everyone assumed. That’s what Bruce says in this book, but now…”

“You really think Hydra’s back?” Clint asked.

“I know I heard the name. And I know this coven that Brock’s a part of isn’t up to any good. And I know it was Brock who broke into my place. And I know that they took the ingredients needed for a binding spell.”

“You think they’re making more weapons?” Steve asked.

“Possibly, although it’s hard to say without knowing their end game,” Natasha said.

“Okay, so, we track Brock. You said yourself you could find out where he is, right?” Clint said.

“Sure, with the proper ingredients. But a tracking spell is a lot harder than that mirror spell. It’ll take months to replenish my supplies.”

“So what do we do?” Clint asked.

Natasha finally looked at Bucky. “Did you bring the sword?”

Bucky was so wrapped up in the events of the day, he’d completely forgotten about the sword laying against the wall by the couch. He reached over and grabbed it. He handed it over to Natasha, but she shook her head and instead indicated the floor in front of Bucky’s feet.

“It’s time to talk to whoever’s possessing your sword,” she said.

  


* * *

  


Natasha bustled around the room, disappearing every once in awhile into various rooms throughout the house, cursing under her breath when she couldn’t find a particular ingredient. Finally, she returned to the living room and set out the armful of equipment and jars of various liquids and powders on the floor next to the sword.

“Help me move the furniture,” she said and they all helped push the couch and armchairs back against either wall. Natasha nudged the sword to the middle of the room and then took out a piece of chalk. She drew a circle around the sword, then filled in the edges with various foreign symbols, lines, and shapes. 

“I think that’s right,” Natasha said, putting her hands on her hips. She shrugged and picked up a jar of watery green liquid. She popped the top off and the room instantly smelled vaguely musty. She dipped the tips of her first two fingers in, muttered something under her breath that may have been Latin, and then flicked a few drops of liquid onto the circle. Nothing happened. Natasha continued, using the containers of ingredients in a seemingly random order for at least 15 minutes. Finally, she popped the cap back onto the last jar and sat back. A moment passed in silence before she exclaimed, “Oh yeah!”

She rushed over to a shelf, then bent over to root around in a pile of trash Steve had swept into the corner. She pulled out a stub of a candle and a box of matches. She placed the candle in the circle and lit the stub. It sparked to life and the flame turned a bright, neon blue. 

Nothing happened for a minute or two, then slowly the smoke from the candle grew until it created a cloud of gray within the circle. The smoke curled and furled until the vague shape of a person started to appear. First legs in starched, pleated pants with shiny, dark dress shoes, then a coat of an indistinguishable color, two arms, one holding a uniform hat tucked close to his side, then finally a head and face.

“Oh shit,” Clint said.

“That’s…,” Steve said.

“Me,” Bucky breathed.

The visage was uncannily similar to Bucky. The same cleft chin, straight nose, and bright eyes. In fact, the only notable difference was the hair, which was short and styled away from his face.

“Don’t be an idiot, I’m dead,” the visage said.

Bucky’s heart jumped into his throat. The guy even had his _voice_ if the accent was a little more obviously Brooklyn.

“But you look…,” Bucky trailed off, mouth open wide.

“What’s your name, soldier?” Natasha asked, eyes wide and slightly… playful? Bucky frowned.

“Are you flirting with him?” Bucky asked, offended.

Natasha gave a half-hearted shrug and a small smile.

“Buchanan Barnes, ma’am,” the ghost replied with an annoyingly familiar rakish smile.

“Hey, don’t flirt back!” Bucky snapped.

“Don’t take orders from a scrub like you, pal,” the ghost replied in a bored drawl.

“I’m not your pal!” Bucky retorted.

“No, I think he’s your… great-great third cousin? Or something,” Steve interjected. He looked up from the history book of witches with a small shrug. “There’s a family tree, see?” Steve pivoted the book closer to Bucky who took it with a frown. Steve’s finger was pointing at a name in bold: Buchanan Barnes, b. 1917, son of Theodore and Eleanor Barnes. According to the tree, Theodore’s brother Geoffrey married Louise and they had Christopher who married Lynne who had Niall who married Alice who had James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, b. 1990. 

“You’re Steve?” The ghost moved slightly toward Steve, head cocked in interest. The smoke that made up the majority of him gusted up with every slight twitch.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replied.

“You look just like him,” Buchanan mused.

Steve took the book back from Bucky and held up the photo of the SSR. He pointed to the man laughing next to Buchanan in the photo. “Like him, you mean?” Steve asked.

Buchanan nodded. “Steven Grant.”

Steve flipped a few pages until he found what he was looking for. “Ha!” he said, finger tracing down the page. “Steven Grant’s sister Mary married David and they had Sarah, my mom. He’s my… great uncle?”

“Dude, that guy is supposed to be _you_?” Clint asked, peering over Steve’s shoulder. Bucky leaned over too to see what they were looking at. It was a photo, this time just of Steven Grant in his army fatigues. 

“He’s not _me_ ,” Steve said. “He’s just… related to me.”

“And he’s hot,” Natasha chimed in from behind Bucky. “Not that you’re not hot,” she added cheerily to Steve. “But he’s…”

“A total beefcake,” Clint finished.

“Yeah,” Natasha agreed.

Bucky could feel Steve burning with embarrassment next to him.

“Can we get back to me, please?” Buchanan snapped.

“Aw, he’s jealous,” Natasha cooed. “That’s cute.”

Buchanan frowned and Bucky wondered if he looked that pathetic when he frowned, too. 

“Don’t know if you know this, but I ain’t got a lot of time,” the ghost said, gesturing to the candle which was burning down fast.

“Right, right,” Natasha said and moved over to stand in front of the circle with her hands on her hips. “So, we know who you are. And that you worked for the SSR. So why are you haunting this sword?”

Buchanan tsked and rolled his eyes. “I’m not _haunting_ anything. Don’t you get it? I’m bound to it! I’m one o’ those weapons you were talkin’ about ten minutes ago.”

“You were made by Hydra?” Steve asked.

The question made Buchanan shift uncomfortably, causing the smoke at his feet to billow up and obscure the lower half of his body for a few seconds. Bucky took half a step back. If they were talking to a Hydra weapon, it didn’t matter if it was possessed by his third cousin or not, it was dangerous.

“Yeah,” Buchanan answered. 

“That why you keep trying to kill me?” Bucky asked quietly.

Buchanan sighed, exasperated and annoyed. “I ain’t tryna _kill you_. Christ, Peggy was right. Wouldn’t know a brick wall if it hit ya in the face.”

“So I should take that giant hole in my bedroom door as a sign of your _friendship_?” Bucky replied angrily.

“If you’d just stayed still, there wouldn’t be a damn hole in your door!”

“What, so you could skewer me?!”

“No, but I’m considerin’ it now!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Boys!” Natasha cut in. “Can we chill for, like, five seconds, please?” She waited a beat until Bucky put his hands up in defeat and turned away from the stupid ghost. “Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, Buchanan –”

“Christ, don’ call me _that_ ,” the ghost said. “Bucky’s fine.”

“No way, that’s _my_ name!” Bucky protested, turning back to scowl at the ghost.

“Technically it was his first,” Clint pointed out, wildly unhelpful as usual.

“Yeah, but I’m still alive!” Bucky replied.

“It doesn’t matter!” Natasha cut in. When the room grew quiet again, she turned her attention back to Buchanan. “You were explaining about being a Hydra weapon,” she said.

“Yeah,” Buchanan said, narrowing his eyes at Bucky, “I was.” He turned to Natasha. “As you know, Hydra was experimenting with binding spirits to weapons, the details of which were lost to time. Well, almost lost. Hydra captured prisoners throughout the war, killed them quickly and slowly and every way in between before binding the soul to a weapon. Guns, grenades, even assault vehicles.

“In 1945, Steve and I…” Buchanan lifted his chin slightly, almost unnoticeably except Bucky knew his mannerisms like they were his own; he was trying not to cry. “We had an infiltration mission high up in the Alps. Things went south and I fell. Steve thought I died, but Hydra found me first. They, uh, they experimented. I don’t remember a lot of it, but in the end, I died and they bound me to this sword. Guess they finally figured out traditional weaponry was easier to control than the modern shit.”

“You worked for Hydra?” Steve asked, voice hushed.

Buchanan looked at him a beat too long before saying, “For a while. I tried to fight back but it’s… complicated. Hydra was… powerful.”

“No one’s blaming you,” Natasha said softly.

Buchanan shot her a sharp look before shaking his head. “Peggy found me. Rather, she found the sword. SHIELD had been driving Hydra into a corner for years and they came so close to finishing them off that Hydra threw the only thing they had left at ‘em – me. ‘Course, Peggy was too smart for all that. She worked her magic, tried to exorcise me. But, then she saw who it was and I asked her to keep me instead, use the sword against Hydra. She agreed. That was 35 years ago now.”

“Oh, so you work for Peggy?” Clint asked.

“I don’t work for anyone. I _allow_ SHIELD to use me to the detriment of Hydra, that’s all.”

“Sounds like you work for Peggy,” Clint mumbled.

“But Peggy doesn’t still… fight Hydra, does she? I mean, she’s…,” Steve said awkwardly.

“She’s still a better operative than any of you,” Buchanan snapped. “But it’s true, she’s older now. That’s why she’s been looking for someone else to take the sword. I can operate it on my own – that is, move the sword, but it’s difficult and draining. Trying to get you two assholes to spring into action took it out of me like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were we supposed to gain some sort of knowledge from the carnage you left behind in our home?” Bucky asked.

“You were _supposed_ to grab the fuckin’ sword, ya rube!” Buchanan shot back. “Peggy chose you cause she knew we were related. Your attitude might be piss-poor, but even I can’t deny the resemblance.”

“ _My_ attitude?” Bucky shot back.

“Dum-Dum was the last sword user,” Buchanan pressed on, ignoring Bucky. “That’s when we figured out that I could possess the user of the sword, too, if he were missing an arm, say. It allowed Dum-Dum and I to control the sword together, make better tactical decisions, that sorta thing.”

“Dum-Dum used the sword?” Steve asked.

Buchanan nodded. “That’s why Peggy thought this hare-brained twit would be a good substitute, but clearly she was wrong. There’s a first time for everything, after all.”

“Well, I’m sorry that my first reaction to having a sharp object thrown at me isn’t to grab it with my _missing hand_!” Bucky said.

“So, Hydra really is back, then,” Natasha cut in. “They weren’t destroyed at the end of the war?”

Buchanan snorted. “Not likely. Some o’ the Howlies thought so, of course. But Peggy never did. Even after she got the sword and Hydra disappeared, she never really believed they were gone. I didn’t either, so I hung around. Now, it seems, we were right.”

“But what do they want?” Steve asked. “To make more weapons, sure, but what’s the end game there?”

“Power,” Buchanan replied. “They thrive on war and bloodshed, swooping in when people are at their lowest and taking what they believe is rightfully theirs. If they had their way, Hydra would control everything from what you wear to how you think. In the meantime, I believe they’re building an army. They were never quite able to replicate what they had with me, but I think it’s safe to assume they’ve made some progression.”

“So what the hell do _we_ do?” Bucky asked. “Peggy’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Probably took her armory into hiding,” Buchanan said. “But she’s not who you need to talk to, anyway. SHIELD didn’t end with its founding members. It’s small, but still active. Just not sure who all’s on the new team. I _do_ know Peggy doesn’t agree with their mode of operation, but that’s irrelevant. She keeps a list in her apartment. It’s coded, but if you can get it, I can decipher it, no sweat.”

“We’re gonna need all the help we can get,” Natasha said. She turned to Steve. “You and Bucky head over to Peggy’s and get that list. In the meantime, I’ll keep my ear to the ground in case Hydra resurfaces.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Buchanan said, running a hand through his slick hair.

“And take loverboy with you,” Natasha added, jutting her thumb out at Buchanan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore is done! Now back to the plot.
> 
> Also, I posted a one-shot in my The Blood Will Dry universe, if you're one of those that read that long-ass fic. :)
> 
> ALSO, ALSO, thank you for all the love and comments on this fic. It's been fun to write and even more fun to share! <3
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	11. Chapter 11

“Can’t believe I’m related to that asshole,” Bucky muttered, not for the first time, as he and Steve trudged up the stairs to Peggy’s apartment. The sword vibrated in Bucky’s right hand as if to say it voiced the same sentiment.

“You got a lot more in common than you think,” Steve said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve shrugged a shoulder. “You’re both prickly pears if I’ve ever seen one.”

Bucky clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Prickly pear my ass,” he mumbled under his breath.

After knocking and waiting a few minutes, Steve determined that Peggy wasn’t home yet and they would have to break in. “It’s not hard,” Steve said. “I’ve had to break into my apartment a few times when I forgot my keys at home. These locks are so old…” Steve unlocked his own apartment door (with a key) and reappeared a few minutes later with a couple bobby pins and a paperclip. He bent the paperclip with long, dexterous fingers before inserting the lockpick into Peggy’s door handle. Bucky tried not to notice how delicate Steve’s hands were as he watched, but he couldn’t help but realize that’s what people meant by “artist’s hands”.

A minute later, the lock clicked and Steve whooped excitedly.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky and Steve turned quickly to find Sam staring at them with a frown fixed on his face. 

“Sam,” Steve said. He glanced awkwardly at Peggy’s apartment door standing ajar. “I’m not breaking in.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Coulda fooled me. I hope you’re not thinking about returning that sword,” he added, looking at the weapon in Bucky’s hand. “Cause she already had people stop by to pick up her collection. I guess she was finally convinced to sell her shit to a museum.”

“People?” Steve asked. “What people? What’d they look like?”

Sam scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Didn’t see more than the first guy. He was a skinny white dude. Maybe 40? Wearing a suit. Why’s that matter? Everything’s okay with Peggy, right?”

“As far as I know,” Steve said. “I haven’t heard from her. Look, I just left a schoolbook in her apartment the other day and I need it for class, and I don’t know when she’ll be back, so I –”

“Decided to break in?” Sam finished. “Sure, man.” He waved his hand in the air and went over to his apartment door. “Just don’t involve me. Cause you know who’s gonna be serving time? The black dude. Peace out.” Sam held up two fingers and disappeared into his apartment.

Steve opened the door to Peggy’s apartment and he and Bucky shuffled in quickly, shutting the door behind them. “All right. Buchanan said it was in a little, black address book somewhere, so let’s get looking,” Steve said.

Rifling through Peggy’s personal belongings felt wrong, especially since Bucky barely knew the woman, but his guilt quickly gave way to frustration as their search continued into its second hour with nothing to show for it.

“She was a SHIELD operative,” Steve said, hands on his hips. “Of course she’d hide her things well.”

“Great,” Bucky replied, landing heavily on Peggy’s couch. “So if you were a secret supernatural agent, where would you hide _your_ address book?”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “I have no idea.” He sat next to Bucky.

Bucky knew Peggy’s apartment better than his own at this point, and he went through every nook and cranny in his mind, any place that could possibly hold a small notebook. He’d even checked the floorboards for loose openings, but there was nothing. 

“Hey,” Steve said.

“What?” Bucky asked, turning toward Steve. He was surprised to find Steve so close. “You figure out where her book is?”

“No, I just… wanted to apologize,” Steve said and he averted his eyes.

Bucky snorted. “Not your fault Peggy’s a master hider of address books.”

“Not for that,” Steve said, slightly annoyed. “For not believing you. About the sword, I mean.”

“Oh,” Bucky replied. “It’s fine. I mean, I didn’t expect you to, I guess. No one would expect you to believe that a sword was possessed or whatever.” At the thought, Bucky glanced over at the sword, which was sitting still, propped up against one of Peggy’s armchairs.

“Still, I probably made you feel like shit. I mean, the first time you came up to my apartment to ask about the sword, I thought –” Steve cut off abruptly and his ears turned pink.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “What’d you think?”

Steve dropped his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. He fixed his glasses and then looked at Bucky, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “I thought you were looking for a reason to talk to me. It was stupid. And then you made up some stupid story about a haunted sword to talk to me? I mean, I just thought you were… I don’t know, desperate? Or socially awkward.”

“You thought I was hitting on you?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“I know, it’s stupid,” Steve replied with a short laugh. 

“It’s not stupid. I mean, it’d be a stupid way to go about it, and I really was more concerned about the homicidal sword than getting your number. But, it wasn’t the, uh, _last_ thing on my mind, either.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder and smiled, ducking his head slightly to lean in toward Steve. “Yeah,” he said and watched as Steve’s eyes flicked toward Bucky’s lips and back up again. His face flushed pink and he tilted his head slightly.

The apartment door slammed open with a bang and a man in a light grey suit brandishing a handgun strode in, aiming straight at Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Talk about a cockblock.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)!
> 
> (ALSO, since I posted that new fic as part of _The Blood Will Dry_ series, the main fic has almost hit 20,000 hits!! U GUYS!!!!)


	12. Chapter 12

“State your name and business!” the man in the grey suit yelled.

Bucky’s mouth suffered through a few silent shapes before he was cut off by a baritone voice saying, “Put the damn gun down, Coulson.”

Dr. Fury stepped up from behind the man apparently named Coulson and leveled Bucky and Steve with a glare. 

“Fury?!” Bucky exclaimed in disbelief.

“Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers,” Fury said. “Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Flustered, Bucky searched wildly for an explanation that might explain why he’d broken into an old woman’s home and nearly kissed a guy on her couch but he was coming up empty.

“Are you SHIELD?” Steve asked, seemingly more in control of his faculties than Bucky.

Bucky aimed his shocked expression at Steve.

Fury snorted. “Smart, Rogers,” he said. “Peggy finally tell you?”

“Peggy? No, our friend –”

“How are you SHIELD?!” Bucky cut in.

Fury looked vastly unamused. 

“I mean, you’re a _teacher_ ,” Bucky said, as if that proved anything.

“Believe it or not Barnes, hunting ghosts isn’t a lucrative business. Have to supplement my income somehow.”

“All clear in the halls, sir.” A woman entered the room, holstering her gun in the process.

“Dr. Hill?!” Bucky shouted.

“Bucky,” Hill said, surprised. “You tripped the silent alarm?”

“I _guess_ ,” Bucky said. “You’re SHIELD?”

“I guess,” Hill said with a grin.

“False alarm,” Fury announced. “So, what were you two lookin’ for?” 

“Sir, look,” Coulson said. He reached next to the armchair on the other side of the room and grabbed the sword that Bucky had placed there while they looked for the address book.

“We were looking for you, sir,” Steve said. “We needed to warn you. Hydra’s back.”

The room grew unusually quiet. Coulson and Hill exchanged unreadable looks behind Fury’s back.

Fury’s jaw tightened noticeably and he shook his head. “Look, I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but Hyrda’s been gone for 30 years. Agent Carter took care of that herself.”

“But we have reason to believe there’s a coven working in this city that –”

“I know you boys wanna help,” Fury cut in. “But whatever Peggy’s told you –”

“Peggy hasn’t told us anything!” Steve said angrily. “Another witch did. And the sword.”

“You spoke to Buchanan,” Fury said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Steve said uneasily.

Fury nodded gravely. “Well, that’s explains it. Look, ghosts are fickle at the best of times and that’s not to mention their mental stability. Buchanan has been an asset to the team for years, but he’s been off his rocker for just as long.”

In spite of their differences, Bucky suddenly grew intensely angry on Buchanan’s behalf. Sure, the guy was an asshole, but he wasn’t a _liar_. Probably. At any rate, Bucky trusted Clint and Clint trusted Natasha, so that had to count for something.

The sword showed its own dissent by shocking Coulson, causing him to cry out and drop the sword on the ground.

Fury glanced at the sword and then back at Steve, as if Buchanan’s reaction proved he was right. 

“I know you boys mean well,” Fury said, “but you have to understand, ghosts are single-minded in their pursuits. Buchanan stayed to defeat Hydra and now that Hydra’s gone, he’s lost. I’ve been telling Carter for years to exorcise him, put the guy out of his misery, but she’s too soft on him. Which you did not hear from me, by the way. She’d have my head for sayin’ that,” he added seriously.

“But our friend… She was attacked,” Bucky said weakly. “She said –”

“We’ll take care of it,” Fury insisted. “You boys just focus on school. You’ve got a paper due next week,” he said, leveling Steve with a stare.

Steve matched him without wavering, which Bucky was thoroughly impressed with. However, Fury was unshakeable and he ushered them out of the apartment. He handed Bucky the sword and said, “If you really wanna help, exorcise him,” Fury said, pointing at the sword hanging from Bucky’s hand. “He’s served his time.”

  


* * *

  


“You don’t believe them, do you?” Steve asked. He was plastered to Bucky’s apartment window watching the new SHIELD leave in a nondescript silver sedan.

Bucky gave a shrug and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to believe,” Bucky admitted. “Ghosts, witches, secret organizations? A couple months ago, all I was worried about was balancing school with work.”

Steve turned to Bucky. “Work!” he exclaimed. “You said you work with Tony, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“So ask him if he knows where Howard is! At this point, I don’t know who to believe – Natasha or Fury or no one at all. But I do trust Peggy. If we could just talk to her, I think we could figure this all out.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, all right. I’ll try and get something out of Tony. But I’m assuming you haven’t met the guy.”

“No, why?”

“Well, it’s like trying to get a straight answer from a hamster addicted to caffeine who _works in a coffee shop_.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky dazzled a soccer mom with one of his most earnest smiles as he passed over her coffee and said, “Enjoy!” As soon as she turned her back, his smile dropped and he collapsed onto his elbow on the counter. Morning rush on Saturdays was insane, and the cold, rainy weather had brought even more customers in than usual. Finally, they’d hit their stall and now only ten or so customers were sitting about, most of them on their phones or laptops in silence.

“Darcy tells me you missed class on Friday, my friend!” Thor said, reappearing from the back with a clean rag. He nudged Bucky slightly until he moved from the counter so Thor could wipe it down.

“Ah, yeah. I was sick,” Bucky lied easily.

Thor nodded. “You did not send her a textual message.”

Bucky frowned at the wording. “Uh, no. I forgot,” he said.

“You will be looking for a chance to make it up to her, I presume.” Thor was purposefully avoiding Bucky’s eye now, which was disturbing because no one liked eye contact more than Thor.

“I mean, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Great!” Thor exclaimed, turning to Bucky and clapping him hard on the shoulder. Then his face fell as he registered what Bucky said. “Oh. You do not wish to make Darcy happy?”

“What? I never said that!” Bucky replied.

Thor looked at Bucky imploringly. Bucky sighed heavily. “What did you have in mind?”

Thor beamed. “You have not joined us for Jane’s weekly suppers in many weeks! I believe Darcy would be thrilled to have you. I know Jane and myself would be very pleased.”

“Oh. Uh,” Bucky hesitated. “I mean, I’ve been really busy. Class and… everything. I’ll see,” he said.

Thor nodded enthusiastically. “Excellent.”

The door to the shop opened with a chime and Tony entered looking worse than usual. He was wearing dark sunglasses, jeans, and a sport coat. His hair was exceptionally messy. This, coupled with the fact that he was four hours late, probably meant the last thing he wanted was to be bothered, but Bucky had a mission.

“‘Scuse me,” he muttered to Thor before following Tony into the backroom where there was a small office.

According to Thor, who had no reason to lie, Tony was actually some sort of technology mogul whose wife forced him to take regular work so he’d have some semblance of normality in his life. Bucky was unsure how well that was working because Tony’s office was a mess of mechanical and electrical parts disassembled and reassembled into worrying shapes. When Bucky walked in, Tony quickly stashed what looked like a robotic body part of some larger machine. 

“Barnes. Can I help you?” Tony asked. He pushed his glasses into his hair and Bucky wasn’t surprised to see the heavy bags under his eyes.

“Um, so, this is kind of a weird question,” Bucky said, “but, uh, are you Howard’s son? I mean, is your dad named Howard?”

Tony frowned deeply. “Yeah, why? Did he say something to you? Was it about your arm? I can talk to him if you want, although I’m going on three months now, I’d hate to break that streak.”

“So you don’t… talk to him?” Bucky asked.

Tony sighed and took a seat behind his desk. He steepled his fingers in front of his face. “What’s this about? If he owes you money –”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Bucky cut in, waving his hand in the air. “I met him the other day. He hangs out with one of my neighbors, Peggy Carter?”

“Pegs!” Tony exclaimed happily. “How is she?”

“Well, that’s sort of why I’m asking. See, she left. With your dad and their buddies. The, um, Howling Commandos? And no one really knows where they went and I really, really have to talk to her. So I was thinking maybe if you knew where your dad was…”

Tony thought a moment. “I can call around, but the guy is an enigma and a pain in the ass. But I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Peggy’s not in any trouble, is she?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said truthfully.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s a crafty gal. She can take care of herself.”

“Right. Well, thanks, sir.”

The rest of Bucky’s shift dragged on. It didn’t help that Karen had called out sick, leaving Thor, Bucky, and the new kid Miles to man the shop on a Saturday. Even Tony ducked in a few times to lend a hand, which was basically unheard of up to that point.

Before clocking out, Thor reminded Bucky once again that he should consider coming to Wednesday night dinner and suggested he invite Clint, which was when a thought occurred to Bucky. 

In spite of everything that had happened in the past few days – the sword and the ghost of his doppelganger and someone getting attacked – his mind was at least partially distracted by Steve and the brief moment they had shared on Peggy’s couch. They hadn’t spoken about it since then and the longer Bucky went without even a text from him, the more he thought maybe he’d read it completely wrong. Or maybe it was the heat of the moment. Or maybe Steve had changed his mind. 

But if there remained even the slightest chance that Steve liked him, then the Wednesday night dinner would be the perfect time to ask him out. 

The idea had Bucky giddy on his walk back to the apartment. Bundled in his winter clothes, he tried to keep the smile off his face as he walked up the stairs into his apartment. 

Clint had been spending most of his time at Natasha’s, trying to help her track down Hydra (if they even existed anymore), although Bucky was almost certain Clint just had it bad for the woman and was using the excuse to be around her. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t home when Bucky arrived. Bucky fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Bucky worked another 12-hour shift on Sunday, during which Tony informed him he hadn’t been able to get in touch with his father, but would try again later in the week. By the time Bucky got off at 7, he was practically vibrating with nerves. He tried to calm down, convince himself that Steve might not even be at home, but it didn’t help.

Bucky knocked on Steve’s door. He shifted uncomfortably as he waited until finally Sam answered the door. His face lit up when he saw Bucky.

“Hey, man!” he exclaimed happily. “Perfect timing. I need you for something.”

“What? Okay –”

Sam grabbed Bucky by the arm and dragged him inside the apartment. Steve was standing in the middle of the living room, hands on his hips and his back to Sam and Bucky. He turned, looking furious, but his face completely changed when he saw Bucky.

“Bucky,” he said in surprise. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I just came to ask you something. I can come back?”

“Nah, what you’re about to do is settle this argument once and for all,” Sam said. He smiled cheekily at Steve. “Go on, Steve. Tell Bucky what you wanna do.”

Steve gave Sam a dark, simmering look. “Sam,” he warned.

“What?” Sam asked, all innocence and bravado. “Oh, you’re willing to stand your ground for me but not your new friend?”

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked.

Steve sighed. “I’m dropping out of Fury’s class.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. That was the last thing he’d expected. “Okay? Why?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Sam said and went around to sit on the couch. He slung his arm around the back, picked up a tablet, and looked bored while he scrolled through his Facebook newsfeed.

Steve glared at Sam before turning back to Bucky. “With everything that’s been going on, I can’t expect to focus on the class and it was a long-shot anyway. Everyone in a 10-mile radius of that class could tell I’m a lost cause.”

Bucky swallowed and shot a glance at Sam who seemed unperturbed by Steve’s small admission that there was anything going on out of the ordinary. Steve must have caught the wary look because he waved his hand in the air and said, “I told Sam everything yesterday.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open in shock. “You… you told… What did you –?” 

“Everything,” Sam answered. “Swords, witches, ghosts – the whole she-bang.” He sounded uninterested in the whole ordeal.

Bucky stared at Steve wide-eyed. Steve shrugged in response. “I broke into Peggy’s apartment. He sort of demanded an explanation.”

“And you just believed him?” Bucky asked Sam.

Sam finally looked up from the tablet, a furrow in his brow. “Course I did. Look, Steve is a lot of things, but he can’t lie to save his life. Besides, I told you I saw that sword do weird shit before. Move on its own, that sorta thing. The rest just made sense.”

“And you’re cool with all this,” Bucky said.

“If by ‘all this’ you mean you two fighting the good fight, destroying evil? Yeah, totally cool with it. Just keep me out of it, all right? I got two more semesters left until I’m a licensed therapist. I wanna be alive for that. But we’ve gotten off track. Please convince my poor, sad, pint-sized friend he needs to keep his ass in class so he can give that goddamn speech.”

Thrown by Sam’s easy admission into their unusual situation, Bucky was unsure what to say regarding Steve’s desire to leave the class.

“You’re not a lost cause,” Bucky said finally, turning his attention back to Steve. “But you said the award wasn’t a big deal anyway, so I guess whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

“Not a big deal?!” Sam shouted. Steve looked stuck between ashamed and defiant.

“It’s _not_ ,” Steve argued.

“Nah, you’re right,” Sam said, putting his hands in the air. He looked at Bucky. “You never heard of the Reuben award?” 

Bucky shook his head. “I mean, not until Steve mentioned it.”

Sam looked furiously at Steve. “Why do you always sell yourself short?” he snapped. To Bucky, he said, “The Reuben is the biggest awards ceremony for comic artists. I’m talking the best newspaper clips, TV animation, movies, books, greeting cards, graphic novels, comic books, magazines, and editorials from all across the country. You ever heard of _Peanuts_? What about _Garfield_ , _The Far Side_ , _Calvin and Hobbes_ , _Cathy_ , _Dilbert_?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky said.

“They all won the award. And our boy won it, too.” Sam tutted. “And he says it’s _no big deal_. Honest to God, Steve, I don’t even think you were bein’ humble, you were just bein’ stupid! You know, a comic book hasn’t won in nearly 30 years?”

“Wow,” Bucky said appreciatively. Steve looked about ready to catch fire with the sheer heat he was exuding from embarrassment and anger.

“It doesn’t. Matter,” Steve ground out between his teeth. “I’m not going to the damn gala. I’m not making a speech.”

“You’ll regret it,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “You told me yourself you would. That’s why you took the class!”

“And I’m not any better than I was when I started!” Steve retorted.

“That’s not true,” Bucky cut in. He gave Steve a curious look because in the month or so he’d known Steve, there’d been a marked improvement in his public speaking. He wasn’t anywhere near speech-in-front-of-a-thousand-people ready, but he wasn’t an impossible case, either. “You don’t remember how bad you were at the beginning?” Bucky asked.

“Of course I do,” Steve replied, offended and embarrassed.

“Well, you clearly don’t because you’re better. Like, a _lot_ better. Obviously you need to do some work, but –”

“ _Some_ work?” Steve asked, unconvinced.

“I already said I’d help you,” Bucky reminded him. “Natasha is keeping an eye out for Hydra and Fury’s convinced they don’t even exist, so there’s really nothing to distract you. I think you should stick it out.”

Steve frowned, but he didn’t say ‘no’, which Bucky took as a win. Sam must have too because he shot Bucky a quick smile.

“I’ll think about it,” Steve said, narrowing his eyes at the elated Sam. “Now, you needed something?”

Bucky had completely forgotten his original reason for coming to Steve’s apartment until then. “Jane’s having another Wednesday night dinner party. I wanted to know if you, um, if you guys wanted to go.”

“I’m in,” Sam said. 

Steve nodded. “Okay,” he said.

“Great,” Bucky said and tried to sound enthusiastic. Maybe he’d be able to clarify his feelings later when Sam wasn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cockblocked AGAIN
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket from the coat hook by the door. Clint’s was gone. Bucky hadn’t seen him since Friday when all the shit had gone down at Natasha’s, but he’d been keeping Bucky updated via text since then. At least he’d been sending “hello” and not much else because Hydra were being eerily reticent, if they even existed at all. And the longer they waited to reappear and the longer the sword stayed silent and still laying against the wall in a corner of Bucky’s bedroom, the more he wondered if Hydra really was gone and Buchanan really was just a fanatical ghost.

Either way, Bucky couldn’t think about it for long. He had school to worry about.

A knock sounded at the front door just as Bucky slipped his bag over his shoulder. He frowned and opened the door.

“Morning,” Steve said cheerily, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky replied. “Everything okay?”

Steve’s grin faltered. “Yeah. I just figured we could, um, walk together? To class?”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry. I’m so used to you hating me that I forgot we could.”

Steve snorted a laugh and the smile returned. “You’re gonna milk that ‘til it’s dry, aren’t ya?” Steve asked. He stepped back as Bucky joined him out in the hall.

“If it keeps you around,” Bucky said with a matching grin. He locked the apartment door and they started walking together.

“Speeches start on Thursday,” Steve said. His voice was easy, but Bucky could tell he was still nervous about it.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “If you’d like, you could come over tonight to practice. And tomorrow I have office hours for Fury.”

Steve huffed and his breath fogged up the cold morning air. “You don’t have to do that for me. You’ve got other shit going on. I’ve been out of a job for a month now. All I do at home is stress about this stupid class and the occasional commission, anyway.”

“It’s no trouble,” Bucky assured him. “Besides, I never got to hear the end of your speech. Dum-Dum sounds like a really amazing guy. I’m waiting for the inevitable betrayal or something.”

“You’ll be sorely disappointed,” Steve replied. “Dum-Dum was awesome ‘til the end, I’m afraid.”

They walked in silence for a bit until the curiosity got too much for Bucky. “So he never mentioned anything about SHIELD or the sword or ghosts or _anything_ to you?” 

Steve looked down at his feet and then back up. A slight frown pulled at his mouth. “No,” he said finally. “Which is…” He trailed off, then sighed. “I thought I knew everything about him, but now that I’ve discovered that there’s a whole part of his life that I never even knew about, I wonder what else he didn’t tell me.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sure he was just trying to protect you,” Bucky said. “He clearly loved you. I wouldn’t take it so hard.”

Steve shrugged in response and didn’t say anything for a few, quiet minutes. “You know all this stuff about me – stuff that even Sam doesn’t know the full details of, by the way, and I don’t know anything about you,” Steve pointed out.

Bucky saw it for the change of subject that it was, but decided not to comment on that. “I’m sure I could find the typed-up version of the speech I had to do for my Comm 202 class if you’d like,” Bucky quipped. “What do you want to know?”

Steve thought a moment as they finally made it to the building. “You know all about the guy who raised me, so what about you? Your parents live around here?”

Bucky’s heart thumped hard and anxious in his chest. “Next question,” he said seriously, keeping his eyes dead ahead.

Steve’s easy demeanor melted away. “Oh,” he said, his voice soft. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… You don’t have to, um…”

Bucky shook his head and he started climbing down the stairs toward their classroom. “It’s fine. Sorry, I shouldn’t have just – I don’t like to talk about… them. You didn’t know.”

“All right,” Steve said slowly. “So help me not put my foot in my mouth again. What should I ask?”

Bucky thought a moment. “Ask if I’m single.” He grinned wickedly.

Steve let out a loud laugh. “With moves like that, how could you be?” Steve replied sardonically.

Bucky tutted. “I’m smooth as hell, Rogers.”

Steve and Bucky stopped in front of the closed classroom door. “Keep tellin’ yourself that,” Steve said. “But all right. You single, Buck?”

Bucky lit up at the shortened name. “Yep. Are you?”

Steve pursed his lips in concentration, as if a question that simple could really be hard to answer. He smiled at Bucky, opened the door to the classroom, and said, “Nope,” before slipping inside.

Bucky almost let the door close on him he was so surprised. _No?_ Steve wasn’t single? How could he have read that so wrong? They’d almost kissed! Or at least, Bucky _thought_ they’d almost kissed. Maybe he’d read that wrong, too. Or maybe Steve was a player. Truth was, they barely knew each other and it wasn’t until now that Bucky realized that might actually be an issue.

Bucky slid inside the classroom, ready to ask Steve _what the hell_ , but most of the class was already there and of course Fury walked in right behind him. Steve was already seated at his desk, batting his eyes all innocently while Bucky sat in barely suppressed shock and horror at the front.

The class went by agonizingly slow and Bucky was practically bouncing out of his chair by the time Fury rounded up the lesson. He had his things shoved in his bag because he only had 50 minutes between this class and his next and he planned to spend all of that time getting answers out of Steve. Fury dismissed the class and Bucky shot out of his seat. Steve barely hid a smile behind his hand as he went up to join Bucky.

“Steve,” Bucky said.

“You look upset, Buck,” Steve said, eyes all saintly and blue.

“You –,” Bucky started to say, but was cut off by Fury: “Got a minute, Barnes?”

Bucky hid a groan. Steve smiled. “I’ll wait for you outside,” Steve said and motioned to the door where the rest of the class was funneling out. He left.

Fury waited for the few stragglers to leave before saying, “You get rid of that sword?” 

“Oh, uh, no,” Bucky said. “Haven’t thought about it. Kinda been busy.”

Fury narrowed his eyes very slightly.

“I was working,” Bucky clarified. “At Starbucks.”

“Oh,” Fury said. “All right. Well, you should consider it. I got the number of a couple witches you could try. Their prices are fair.”

“Right,” Bucky said.

“And should I assume the hole in my office wall is Buchanan’s doing?”

Bucky blanched. In all the excitement of the past few days, he’d completely forgotten about the damage the sword had done. “I’m so sorry, sir,” Bucky said. “I completely forgot.”

Fury held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Just take care of that sword.”

“Okay. Um, actually, I know a witch. I’ll talk to her. Now, I really have to…” Bucky pointed at the door and Fury nodded. Bucky all but ran out into the hall where Steve stood leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at Bucky.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“You’re not single?” Bucky burst out.

Steve looked abashedly down at his feet. “I shoulda said something.”

“Is it- Is it Sam?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded somberly. “Sam, yeah. And sometimes this guy I know, Mark. And Sharon, too, can’t forget about her. And I’ve got Jasmine falling all over me. I have to beat ‘em off with a stick most days.”

Bucky gave Steve a dark look. “You’re joking.”

“I’m joking,” Steve said.

“That was a terrible joke,” Bucky said.

“Well, I fooled you. You shoulda seen yourself, squirming in your seat!” Steve chuckled lightly. “I’m flattered, honestly. Can’t believe you fell for it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bucky asked seriously.

Steve shrugged lightly and pushed off the wall. They started walking up the stairs and out of the building. “I’m not exactly what anyone would call a catch,” Steve said with the saddest, self-deprecating smile Bucky had ever seen.

“I respectfully disagree,” Bucky said. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve said and he slowed to a stop on the sidewalk outside the academic building. 

“Do what?”

“Pretend,” Steve said. He avoided Bucky’s eye and looked out across campus toward the Student Center. “We were both a little high-strung. That sorta thing can mess you up. Make you feel… I don’t know.” He finally looked at Bucky and smiled. “It’s fine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked.

“At Peggy’s. Before we, y’know, got threatened with a gun.” Steve blushed deeply but soldiered on: “I know you didn’t mean to. It was just the heat of the moment or whatever.”

“Steve, you can’t be serious,” Bucky said.

Steve frowned in response, which was proof enough that he was very, very serious. “Like I said,” Steve continued. “It’s fine. We can just move on and pretend it never–”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed Steve, putting his hand under Steve’s chin to tilt it up. Bucky pulled back to see Steve’s eyes flutter open. He looked stunned.

“I’d rather not move on,” Bucky said, “if that’s all right with you.”

  


* * *

  


“Make yourself comfortable,” Bucky said, tossing his bag next to the couch. He walked further into his apartment and turned to watch Steve as he looked around. “Want anything?” Bucky asked.

Steve noticed the TV and raised his eyebrows. “Sword do that?” he asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I guess Clint’s been too busy to toss it.” He made his way into the kitchen and announced, “We’ve got no food, expired milk, or water.”

“Water’s fine,” Steve said, peeking around the corner.

“I want to offer ice, but the last time we filled the tray was…” Bucky thought a moment. “I don’t think we’ve ever filled the tray, actually.” He poured two glasses of water and handed one to Steve. 

“Thanks,” Steve said.

“Well, we should get started,” Bucky said. He motioned toward the living room and they went in. 

Bucky took a seat on the couch and Steve dug around in his bag until he found the typed speech. He breathed out heavily when he looked at it. “I really don’t want to do this.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Steve gave Bucky a disbelieving look.

“Okay, well, it won’t be _awful_ , at least,” Bucky said. “It’s just me.”

Steve went to sit on the couch, but Bucky held out his arm. “Nuh-uh.” He pointed in front of him. “If we’re going to practice, then we’re going to _practice_. Which means you get to stand and present. Remember, 20 percent of the grade is how you hold yourself up there.”

Steve groaned all the way to the front of the room, just in front of the TV. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Bucky replied.

Steve rehearsed his speech for an hour and a half, Bucky interrupting occasionally to give him helpful tips. By the time Clint came back, Steve had done it so much he had most of the speech memorized, which seemed to help with his nerves. He could do a pretty good improvisation during the parts he couldn’t completely remember. His voice didn’t waver anymore and he’d stopped his fidgeting by playing with one of Bucky’s hair ties behind his back.

“We watching a magic show?” Clint asked, collapsing next to Bucky on the couch and shoving his cold feet under Bucky’s thigh.

“That would be far more interesting,” Steve said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Wanna give it one more go with Clint here?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged. “Okay.”

He recited the whole speech, only stumbling over his words a couple times. Clint clapped politely when it was over. “Dum-Dum sounds like a great dude,” Clint said.

“He was, yeah,” Steve said.

“All right, let’s take a break. What time is it?” Bucky asked.

Clint shifted and dug out Bucky’s phone from beneath him. Bucky took it. “Jesus, it’s already 8. Didn’t mean to keep you that long,” he said to Steve.

Steve shook his head and sat in the armchair adjacent to the couch. “It’s fine. This was good. It helped, I think.”

Bucky smiled. “I think so, too.”

Clint made a gagging noise. “If you two wanna flirt, can you do it somewhere else?”

“How was that flirting?” Bucky snapped as Steve’s cheeks flushed.

“Oh shit, I was just joking, but look at your face,” Clint said pointing at Steve. Steve immediately turned a bright shade of red from his forehead to, well, Bucky wondered just how far down that blush went before snapping at Clint, “Shut up, wouldja?”

“That’s real cute guys, honest,” Clint said sincerely. He clutched his heart. “Young love!”

“Speaking of which!” Bucky cut in loudly before Steve became a blushing puddle on their floor. “How’s Natasha?”

Clint made a face. “Dude, no. Nat’s… she’s not… I mean, she’s… But she’s not…”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said with a knowing look.

“She’s _fine_ ,” Clint said and dug his toes hard into Bucky’s thigh. “Hasn’t heard from Hydra, for better or worse.”

“Do _you_ think Hydra exists still?” Steve asked.

Clint frowned. “Yeah, I do. I know Natasha and she wouldn’t have said something if she wasn’t certain. I don’t know anyone in the new SHIELD and I don’t know that sword, but I know Nat. I believe her.”

“How’s the shop?” Bucky asked. Last he heard, Natasha was still restocking, a lengthy and grueling process.

“Doesn’t look like a damn mess anymore,” Clint said. “I haven’t seen it in a while to be honest.”

“Isn’t that where you just came from?” Bucky asked.

“Nah, I was working.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You know you have to tell me where you work now.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “I never told you?”

“What the hell? Of course you didn’t!”

“Huh.”

“So?”

“I’m a SCAPL.”

“A scalpel?”

“SCAPL. Supernatural Creature Acquisition and Placement Liaison. SCAPL,” Clint said.

“Right. Which is?”

“Okay, remember Sleipner?” Clint asked.

“Jane and Darcy’s new dog?” Bucky said.

“Yeah, not a dog. It’s, like, a six-legged horse with flame-red eyes and shit. Like twice as tall as me. Shit’s a pain in the ass to glamour.”

“You can’t be serious,” Steve said.

“Deadly,” Clint said. “A lot of witches have supernatural creatures as pets. When witches die or move or can’t afford the glamours anymore, they send their creatures to Natasha who hired me and Kate to find homes for ‘em. Kate and I take shifts. She goes to school, so I tend to take the late hours.”

“So Jane and Darcy know about…?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, hell no. But the glamour Sleipner has lasts for a year, so I just have to remember to give him his second dose before time’s up.”

“Wait a second,” Steve said, eyes lighting up with realization. “All those cats at Natasha’s place? _That’s_ why I wasn’t allergic to them? They weren’t actually cats.”

Clint nodded. “Cat glamours are easy, according to Nat. I think she just likes ‘em better than dogs. I respectfully disagree.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “That dog you brought home all those months ago…?”

“The manticore!” Clint said excitedly. “Super old. Glamours tend to reflect some part of the original creature, hence the bum eye.”

“A manticore pissed on my bed?” Bucky said with a disbelieving laugh.

“Cool, right? Wish we coulda kept him.”

Somehow the fact that it was a manticore and not a one-eyed Labrador didn’t actually make Bucky feel any better about it, but he kept that to himself. They talked for awhile about the ins-and-outs of a job like that until it loomed closer to 10 at night and Steve finally begged off.

“I’ll walk you home,” Bucky said, scrambling off the couch. Steve gave him a strange look and Clint snorted a laugh which he tried unsuccessfully to turn into a cough. Bucky opened the door for Steve and flipped off Clint before closing the door.

“Thanks again for helping me,” Steve said. “Feel kinda guilty.”

Bucky paused on the stairs a moment before catching up. “Guilty?” he repeated in question.

Steve shrugged. “You’re the TA. You’re supposed to be helping everyone. I don’t want you to help me more just because we’re…”

Bucky grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Steve laughed out loud and punched Bucky hard on the arm. They stopped in front of Steve’s apartment door.

“You know what I mean,” Steve said.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll spend extra time with Peter on Thursday morning when he inevitably shows up again. Yeah, I’m the TA, but I’m also your friend,” Bucky pointed out. “I can help a friend with his homework after class, right?”

“Friend, huh?” Steve asked dubiously.

“Among other things,” Bucky replied, leaning closer with a smirk.

“You think you’re so clever,” Steve said, but he was smiling.

“I don’t think, I _know_ ,” Bucky replied.

Steve closed the gap and kissed Bucky. Bucky melted into the kiss, shivering when Steve’s cold hands wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. 

Steve’s apartment door opened and they broke apart quickly. Sam froze in the doorway as both Steve and Bucky tried to hide how red they were.

“Oh shit, oh my God, I am _so_ sorry,” Sam said. “Oh my God, you guys, you _guys_. Shit, this is great. You guys are great. I’m so happy for you. Oh man. Okay, I wasn’t even here. I’ll just,” and with that, Sam went back into the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Steve whimpered. “I’m not gonna hear the end of that for awhile.”

“At least he approves,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, I think he’d approve even if you were a serial killer. He’s been trying to set me up forever, but when it’s hard just leaving the house some days –” Steve froze and looked askance.

Bucky didn’t push. He figured Steve would tell him what kept him locked up in his apartment constantly one day. Instead, he said, “I meant to ask – Jane’s dinner party on Wednesday. Be my date?”

Steve’s stiff posture loosened a little. “Really?” he said.

“Christ, Rogers. _Yes_ , really.”

Steve lit up and said, “Okay.”

Bucky smiled in response. He tilted Steve’s chin up and kissed him, quick and chaste, before heading back downstairs.

  


* * *

  


Bucky showed up a few minutes early to work before Thor or even Karen arrived. He busied himself checking inventory and moving cups from the back room to the front. Karen entered right on time, chatting excitedly with Thor about a recent Krav Maga lesson where she’d successfully upended her 200-pound trainer. Thor laughed and told her she’d have to try it on him one day. She looked thrilled by the idea.

“Bucky!” Thor greeted cheerfully.

“Hey, Thor,” Bucky said with a smile. “Good news. I told Darcy yesterday – I’m coming to dinner tonight.”

“Darcy told me. We are happy to have you. Please tell Karen how much fun these parties are. She continues to insist she would be a burden.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and turned to Karen. He hadn’t known her for very long; she was relatively new and tended to work every shift that Bucky didn’t. All he really knew about her was that she also worked part-time at a local lawyer’s office. “You should come,” Bucky said. “It’s fun. Thor’s not just being overly optimistic for once.”

Thor beamed and Karen laughed. “I’ll think about it,” she said before disappearing in the back.

“If you get your way, Jane’s gonna run out of spots at her table,” Bucky pointed out.

Thor nodded solemnly. “We will have to make room when the time comes.”

Bucky was organizing the product stand in front of the counter ten minutes later when Tony sauntered in, clutching a cup of coffee from a local café down the street. It was probably against company policy or something, but it was Tony Stark, so no one would ever say anything even if they knew.

“Mornin’ gents,” Tony said. “Oh hey, Barnes, about my dad.”

Bucky perked up.

“No word from him yet.”

Bucky deflated. Tony threw a peace sign in his general direction before disappearing into the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F I N A L L Y
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)!


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky had been practicing every night before he went to bed and sometimes when he woke in the middle of the night with that uncomfortable tingling feeling. He would throw his legs over the side of his bed, walk over to the sword, and practice holding it. Using his left arm was becoming easier and easier, but the constant use left him aching for the sword when it wasn’t around. It only became problematic when he forgot he didn’t have an arm at all. A woman at work had fumbled her change the other day and Bucky reacted to try and catch it before it hit the floor and ended up looking like an idiot, throwing forward an imaginary arm. The woman didn’t seem to notice, at least, and Bucky excused himself quickly, red in the face.

The dependence on the sword was disconcerting, but not enough that Bucky stopped. It was too good, too freeing to see and feel his arm again, even if it wasn’t really his arm, even if he couldn’t use it for anything other than gripping and moving the sword.

The more Bucky thought about it, the more irritable he got and by the end of his shift, he was about ready to deck the next customer who looked at his prosthesis funny. As he made to leave, Thor jovially reminded him that he would see him that night. Bucky grumbled all the way back to his apartment.

Bucky crossed the street at a jog, wanting nothing more than to lock himself in his room with the sword. He was considering how he might back out of dinner, too, when he saw a small form huddled on the stairs outside the front door of the apartment building. He slowed to a walk, then quickened his pace when he realized who it was.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing out here?” Bucky asked.

Steve got to his feet and grinned, effectively melting every bad feeling Bucky had been stewing in all day.

“Waiting for you,” Steve replied. His cheeks were red and eyes watery from the cold. 

Bucky pushed on Steve’s shoulder until he turned around and they headed inside. 

“You could’ve waited for me inside where you won’t catch your death,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve shrugged. “I was also avoiding Sam,” he admitted. “He’s been harassing me about all this supernatural stuff, which I don’t even know what’s going on. And you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I think he’s gearing up to give you the shovel talk,” Steve said.

They stopped while Bucky fished out his key and opened his apartment door. “I’m flattered,” Bucky said.

“You should be,” Steve replied. He followed Bucky inside and took a seat in the armchair, still wrapped in his winter coat and hat. “Last person he did that to was Sharon and she –” Steve paused and when Bucky looked back at him he was blushing.

Bucky raised an eyebrow as he shrugged off his coat. “What, did Sam make good on his ‘you hurt him, I kill you’ promise?”

Steve laughed lightly. “No, no, nothing like that. Sorry. I just didn’t mean to bring up an ex-girlfriend.”

Bucky snorted. “Steve, you started this thing by telling me you were some kind of bisexual sex god beating off guys and gals alike with a stick.”

“Yeah, but I was joking then,” Steve pointed out.

“You still like her?” Bucky asked, planting himself on the couch.

“No, of course not!”

“Then don’t worry about it. One day I’m gonna wanna hear all about those exes of yours. Tonight, however, we have a date.”

Bucky expected a witty remark or maybe just a smile, but instead Steve shifted uncomfortably and looked over at the broken TV. 

“You’re still up for it, right?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked back at Bucky and smiled softly. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky gave him a dubious look and Steve sighed. “Sorry, it’s just… Being alone with you is easy. Surrounded by a bunch of people, though…”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. “Oh,” he said. “I mean, we don’t have to tell anyone about us. We don’t even have to talk while we’re there if that’s, um, if that’s what you want?”

Steve stared at Bucky for a long, quiet moment before he rushed forward off the chair and onto the couch next to Bucky. He grabbed Bucky’s arm said, “No! No, Bucky, that’s not what I meant! Jesus.” He picked up Bucky’s hand and squeezed. “I don’t care who knows how I feel about you,” Steve said. “I just meant, I like being around you because I feel like I can be myself. But my anxiety has been such a bitch lately that being around so many people stresses me out. That’s all I meant. I’d _never_ be ashamed to be seen with you.”

An odd choked-up feeling flooded Bucky’s chest and he cleared his throat. “Such a romantic,” he teased weakly.

Steve laughed and shook his head. “Well, one of us has to be.”

  


* * *

  


Sam joined Steve and Bucky outside the apartment so they could all take a cab over to Jane and Darcy’s place. Bucky sat in the front while Sam and Steve were in the back, Sam trying to have a silent conversation with Steve regarding Bucky while Steve scowled at him.

“I’m gonna murder him,” Steve muttered to Bucky as they waited for Sam to pay the cab driver.

“He’s just teasing you,” Bucky said with a grin and he threw his arm around Steve’s shoulder. Sam could very well have broken his jaw with the million-watt smile he was throwing at them.

“Don’t encourage him,” Steve hissed.

Bucky leaned over and planted a kiss to Steve’s temple. Sam put a hand over his chest and faked a heart attack, causing Steve to turn a lovely shade of pink. They made their way up to Darcy and Jane’s apartment and were let in almost immediately by a boisterously loud Thor who only got louder when he saw Bucky’s arm around Steve.

Bucky finally let Steve go, much to his relief and Sam’s displeasure, as they mingled around the apartment. Darcy was quick to steal Bucky, chatting with him about the absolute nightmare that was the introductory sociology class she was TA-ing for. Apparently, there were a strange number of racist conservatives in the class and she’d been methodically tearing them to pieces one by one. 

Sam and Steve later joined them in the living room. There was a knock at the door and Karen arrived, holding a bottle of wine which Thor was delighted by. Darcy was in the middle of explaining a particularly brutal takedown of a misogynist when Sleipner bounded into the room, followed closely by a distraught-looking Jane.

“Sorry!” she said. “I meant to keep him locked up in my bedroom, but he got out. With all these people around, I was afraid he might get scared.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look and tried to hide their laughter. It was certainly odd to think a 10-foot tall, six-legged horse with fire-red eyes could ever be scared. Or, for that matter, could ever look as cute as the dog version did. Regardless, Sleipner quickly ran over to Sam and bounced up and down until Sam picked him up and put him in his lap. Sleipner then placed his front paws on Sam’s chest and licked his face while Sam laughed.

Jane sighed and disappeared into the kitchen once more. Bucky contented himself watching Sleipner make a mess of Sam’s face. Then, Sleipner jumped down to run circles under the coffee table. Darcy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for awhile, stood up and said, “Bucky, could I talk to you a sec?”

Bucky frowned. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he said and followed her into the small dining room where the mismatched tables were already set.

Darcy turned on him the moment they were out of earshot. “Why didn’t you _tell me_?!” she hissed.

“Tell you what?”

She hit Bucky on the chest. “You know what, asshole! You and the twink!”

“Please don’t call him that,” Bucky said, rubbing his forehead.

“I mean it in the non-derogatory way,” Darcy reasoned. “In that he is very cute, very blond, and very small. And gay, apparently? And _dating my best friend_. Guess that means I lost the bet.”

“Well, technically he’s bi,” Bucky replied.

Darcy hit him again and Bucky yelped. “Don’t be an ass!” Darcy snapped.

“I’m not!” Bucky glanced back to ensure they weren’t being overheard and said quietly, “We’re not even technically dating, all right? It’s new. _Very_ new. So just be cool, okay?”

“I’m always cool!” Darcy protested.

“I’m serious, Darcy. Steve’s already not the most sociable of guys. I don’t want you to scare him off.”

“I’m insulted, Barnes. Like, really insulted. I’ll be very nice. And, like, I won’t even pull out the most embarrassing stories I know about you. I’ll probably only tell him about the time you tried to hit on our chem professor.”

Before Bucky could stop her, she slipped past him and back into the living room, a devilish gleam in her eye. 

“Just waiting on one more person,” Jane announced. “You guys can go ahead into the dining room and sit.”

Bucky stepped out of the way as Thor, Karen, and Sam made their way past Bucky into the dining room. Bucky zeroed in on Steve, but Darcy already had her arm through his and was chatting excitedly about something – something Bucky hoped wasn’t as horrifically embarrassing as she’d threatened.

“No Clint today?” Thor asked, breaking Bucky from his thoughts. 

Bucky turned to Thor and took a seat next to him. “No, he’s working.”

Steve smiled at Bucky when they walked in and Bucky motioned toward the seat next to him, but Darcy was too quick and she stole it. Bucky wasn’t too proud to elbow her, but she retaliated by stepping on his foot.

“Don’t. Be. Weird,” Bucky hissed at her. 

She waved her hand in his face and continued her conversation with Steve who sat next to her. Bucky heard another knock on the apartment door in the front room. Jane was talking to the person – a guy, by the sound of his voice – and telling him that the others were in the dining room. 

Jane appeared soon after followed by a guy roughly their age, maybe a little older, with a stubbly beard and dark eyes. Bucky thought he looked vaguely familiar and was wondering if he’d seen him at school or something when he felt a sharp kick on his shin. He jumped and went to glare at Darcy, but she was staring at the new guy with plain interest. Instead it was Steve who was glaring at Bucky.

 _What?_ Bucky mouthed.

Steve darted his eyes toward the guy and mouthed something. Bucky shook his head. _What?_ he mouthed again.

“Guys, this is Brock,” Jane said. “He’s in my advanced physics class.”

“Hey,” Brock said and grinned. 

And Bucky realized why he looked so familiar. He’d tried to kill Natasha, he was probably Hydra, and now he was looking at Bucky like he’d just won the lottery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shiiiiiiiit
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)


	15. Chapter 15

“Brock Rumlow!” Thor shouted excitedly. He stood and shook Brock’s hand. Brock laughed good-naturedly, finally looking away from Bucky. Bucky shrunk further in his seat. He exchanged a dark look with Steve who shrugged discreetly.

“Physics, huh?” Darcy said, batting her eyes. She leaned forward and grinned waspishly. “Must be pretty smart, huh?”

“Not as smart as Jane, that’s for sure,” Brock replied easily.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Jane quipped. “I’ll start bringing out the food.”

“We’ll help!” Steve exclaimed, getting up suddenly.

“Yeah!” Bucky added and followed Steve and Jane out of the room.

“You two really don’t have to –,” Jane started to say, but Steve waved his hand.

“It’s fine,” he assured her and they all went to the kitchen. 

“I’ll grab the ham and you guys can just grab whatever you can. Thanks.” Jane grabbed a deep casserole dish covered in tin foil and left the kitchen again.

“What do we do?” Steve said, turning to Bucky.

“I don’t know! I mean, he doesn’t seem like he’s going to kill us?” Bucky replied.

“That’s probably how he looks every time he’s about to kill someone!”

“Okay, well, we can’t just leave. He probably doesn’t know that we know who he is, right? So if we leave, that’s going to look suspicious as hell. I say we just get through dinner and I’ll text Clint and he can tell us what to do. He should be with Natasha anyway.”

Steve nodded. “All right.” He let out a breath. “Jesus, I’m scared.”

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Bucky said and pulled Steve into a hug.

“Not that I mind the hug,” Steve said, his voice muffled by Bucky’s sweater pressed against his cheek, “but I meant I was scared for everyone else.” Even so, Steve’s arms wrapped around Bucky’s middle and held tight.

Bucky snorted a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

Steve jabbed Bucky in the ribs, causing him to yelp. Jane wandered back in and froze in the doorway. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry. I didn’t meant to…” 

“It’s fine,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, sorry. We’re supposed to be helping,” Steve said and grabbed a dish from the kitchen island before scurrying away to the dining room.

The dinner was long and tense – at least on the parts of Steve and Bucky. Darcy seemed to know something was up and kept her side of the conversation going for as long as she could before giving up and starting on Karen who was seated across from Bucky. Bucky spent the meal staring at his food, pretending to be caught up in the act of enjoying it so that he could eavesdrop on Brock’s conversation. Unfortunately, the guy wasn’t very overtly evil, as told by his apparent return from the Peace Corp where he’d been building schools somewhere in east Africa for the past four years.

Bucky still didn’t trust him. Even if Brock wasn’t Hydra, he’d gone to Natasha’s house and he’d tried to hurt her. Why else would his blood be on her couch? Surely she wouldn’t just attack him for no reason.

 _But what if it was a misunderstanding_ , a small voice echoed in the back of Bucky’s head. But he couldn’t ignore the way Brock stared at him when he first showed up, like he knew Bucky.

“Yeah and Bucky works with Thor, too,” Jane was saying, pointing at Bucky. Bucky tried to force a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. 

Brock didn’t seem to mind. “That _all_ you do?” Brock asked. It sounded innocent enough, but Bucky couldn’t help but hear the implied _do you also cart around haunted swords and hang out with witches I tried to murder recently?_

“I’m in a Master’s program,” Bucky said shortly.

“With me and Thor,” Darcy chimed in. “Except I’m primary ed and he’s secondary.” Thankfully, Darcy took over the conversation, going in for a long-winded rant about the class she TA-ed for. It gave Bucky cover to surreptitiously check his phone. Bucky had sent Clint a text twenty minutes ago telling him what was going on and Clint had finally texted back. 

CLINT: Nat says 2 sit tight. Brock shouldn’t know u but get 2 her place ASAP. Something happened.

Bucky then relayed the message to Steve via text who nodded to Bucky across the table. A few minutes later, Jane started getting up to start cleaning. Thor forced her out and into the living room with the rest of the group so he could clean instead, insistent despite Jane’s protests.

The group slowly filtered into the living room. 

“So how’s the speech coming, Steve?” Darcy asked as she situated herself next to him on the couch. Bucky took Steve’s other side and tried not to glare at Brock when he sat nearby in an armchair.

“Oh,” Steve said, surprised. “Uh, fine.”

“Bucky told me about it,” Darcy explained. 

“Then he’s told you how terrible I am,” Steve said with a self-deprecating smile.

Darcy frowned and shook her head. “No, he just said your speech was really nice.”

“Oh,” Steve said and looked at Bucky who shrugged. His speech about Dum-Dum _was_ nice.

“Um, actually it’s due tomorrow and I promised I’d help him practice a few more times tonight,” Bucky said. “So we should really get going.”

“Not before we break open Karen’s dessert wine!” Darcy protested. “And Thor made this amazing-smelling pie. Trust me, you’re gonna wanna stay for that.”

Steve slyly squeezed Bucky’s hand. If they tried to beg off too quickly, it might look suspicious, so Bucky smiled and said, “All right.”

The group chatted for a while. Jane started talking about something her astronomy professor had said that apparently blew her mind, but Bucky couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around it. Thor eventually appeared with wine glasses and plates of some sugary brown apple pie. In spite of the situation, Bucky enjoyed it immensely. 

“This is really fuckin’ good, Thor,” Bucky said around a mouthful. “Maybe _you_ should do dinner next time.”

“Ah, I’m afraid my expertise in the kitchen starts and ends with dessert.”

“I wouldn’t mind an entire dinner of this,” Karen said. The group laughed and Thor beamed with pride.

Ten minutes later, people were finally slowing down on their second pieces of dessert. Sleipner was sleeping on Jane’s lap and Darcy had moved closer to Karen to chat about Karen’s reportedly attractive lawyer-boss. Steve gave Bucky a look and Bucky opened his mouth to make his excuse to leave, but Brock was quicker.

“Hate to be the first to leave, but I got a long day tomorrow,” Brock said. There was a flurry of half-hearted protests from around the room, but Brock waved them away and stood. “This was really great,” he said. “I’ll have to come again sometime.” Jane stood and she walked him to the door. 

The conversation continued again as if nothing had happened, but Bucky felt a significant weight lift from his chest. 

“We still need to get to Natasha’s,” Steve pointed out quietly and Bucky nodded.

“We’re actually gonna head out, too,” Bucky announced. After extricating himself from a tipsy Darcy’s embrace, they were finally able to make it out of the apartment. 

“Do you think everything’s okay?” Steve asked as they hightailed it down the stairs and out of the building.

“No idea. ‘Something happened’ is about as cryptic as you can get,” Bucky said.

“I hope she didn’t get broken into again,” Steve said anxiously. They made it out onto the street and watched for a taxi to hail.

“Maybe she finally found Hydra,” Bucky said. He pulled out his phone and wondered if it would be faster just to catch an Uber.

“Did I just hear you say Hydra?” 

Bucky and Steve startled and took a couple steps back as Brock pushed himself out of the shadow of the building and into the light of the streetlamp. He was smirking and Bucky’s stomach dropped.

“No,” Bucky said. “I said, um, die… bruh. It’s a, uh, joke.”

Brock quirked an eyebrow, clearly not buying a word. “It was really great to meet you,” Steve said, “but we’re in a rush to get home.” He threw out an arm as a taxi finally turned onto their street. It stopped and Steve tugged at Bucky’s arm, but Bucky was frozen to the spot.

“You boys should watch yourselves,” Brock said. “Don’t want to upset the wrong people.”

“Thanks, yeah, we’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said quickly and finally forced Bucky to move. 

Once they were safely in the cab and driving toward Natasha’s, Steve said, “Die bruh? Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“I panicked!” Bucky exclaimed and rubbed his eyes. “Shit. I mean, that proves it, right? No normal person would be _that_ creepy, right? He’s totally Hydra.”

Steve nodded seriously. “He’s definitely Hydra.”

  


* * *

  


Clint answered the door almost as soon as Bucky knocked, which was okay with him because he felt exposed on the street.

“What happened?” Clint asked as they were ushered inside.

“Brock was there,” Steve said. “And either he’s a part of Hydra or he’s just really creepy.”

“My vote’s Hydra,” Bucky said. “What happened here? Did you guys find something?”

“Yeah. C’mon,” Clint said and led them into the back room. 

Natasha was pacing around, one hand on her hip and the other holding her phone to ear. She was spouting rapid-fire Russian into one end. Bucky had taken two semesters of the language, but couldn’t parse more than two words together at a time she was speaking so quickly. Eventually she groaned and hung up angrily. She tossed the phone on the couch – which had seen a marked improvement in upholstery since their last visit – and turned to the boys.

“Heard you ran into some trouble,” she said.

“Yeah. Think he may have threatened us, too,” Bucky said. 

Natasha nodded. “Sure sounds like Brock Rumlow.” She looked at Clint and said, “No luck figuring out where the package came from.”

“You got a package? Is that what the text was about?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “I hope you can figure this out.” She beckoned them over to the couch where they sat as she grabbed something from behind the armchair. It was a huge box, roughly the height of a mini-fridge and thin. Natasha was able to lift it easily, so it couldn’t have been too heavy. She held out an opened envelope to Steve who took it.

“This was dropped off this afternoon. Tracked it from Romania and Russia and a bunch of other countries, but there was no name for the sender,” Natasha explained.

Steve pulled out a single page of computer paper and opened it. “Oh,” Steve said. “This is Peggy’s handwriting.”

“You’re sure?” Natasha said.

“Yeah, I’m positive,” Steve replied and continued to read. “Says the package is for… me.”

“You know, my first instinct was to throw it out,” Natasha said. “Whatever this thing is, it’s got magic all over it. I can feel it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t throw it out,” Steve said.

Natasha made a face. “I figured that would be the case.” She sighed and pushed the package toward Steve with her foot. “Open at your own risk.” She handed over a pocketknife, which Steve took. He broke the seal of tape on the top and sides and opened the flaps of the box. Inside, underneath a layer of packing peanuts, was a somewhat familiar red, silver, and blue round shield with a silver star in the middle.

“I remember this,” Steve said. “It was part of Peggy’s collection.” He pulled it out and put it on his lap. Bucky lifted an edge and was surprised by how lightweight the metal was, almost like it was made of plastic, although it was unmistakably durable. The star in the middle was reminiscent of the star on Bucky’s sword.

As if summoned, the sword hurtled into the room from somewhere down the hall and crash-landed on the coffee table in front of the armchair.

“What the hell is that doing here?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“I took it from your room,” Clint said. “Natasha wanted another look at it.”

Bucky wanted to snap angrily at Clint for going into his room and taking his things, but Natasha cut him off: “I think we need to have another chat with Buchanan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tone down the creepy, Brock. You're not being very covert.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)!


	16. Chapter 16

The furniture was pushed to the walls, a circle was drawn, ingredients collected, and then the group was staring at a familiar – yet oddly different – ghost of Bucky’s likeness. Buchanan was no longer sporting his army fatigues, but a rough-knit shirt and combat pants. His boots were unlaced, his hair disheveled, and a high-powered rifle was slung across his back.

“‘Bout damn time,” Buchanan said.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing,” Buchanan said. “Yet.” He turned toward Steve who was clutching the shield in front of him. “But if Peggy really gave you that shield, it means something big’s happening.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Steve asked.

“It was Steve’s,” Buchanan said. “My Steve.” Buchanan’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “A witch named Erskine made it for him. There are special protections that kept him safe during our fights with Hydra. We were a team: infiltration and extermination. He’d lead us in and I would deal the killing blow with the sword –”

“Wait, you had the sword _before_ Hydra made you possess it?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, of course. The sword was SHIELD’s greatest weapon against Hydra at the time. It’s an actual sword, for all intents and purposes. If it stabbed you, you would die. But it has unique spells and enchantments and shit I don’t even know the half of that give it the singular ability to break the bond between spirit and object.”

“That’s helpful,” Steve said, staring at the sword by Buchanan’s feet.

“I return to my original point. If Peggy sent that shield, it means you’re in trouble. Or it means she wants to protect you, which means –”

“Hydra’s back,” Bucky finished. “Yeah, we know. Just met one of the Hydra lackeys at a dinner party.”

“Maybe the problem here is you’re going to dinner parties instead of focusing on the work at hand,” Buchanan said.

“Look, some of us have lives outside of ghost hunting,” Bucky snapped.

“Yeah well while you’re livin’ the life of Riley, innocent souls are bein’ used against their will for evil.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Would you boys please shut up for one second?” Natasha cut in. She put her hands on her hips and looked at Buchanan. “What should we do? How do we fight them?”

“Peggy still missing?” Buchanan asked. Natasha nodded. “And the Howlies?”

“Far as we know, they all took off together,” Steve said.

Buchanan sighed. “All right, then your best bet would be the new SHIELD. Which I’m not happy about, mind you. God knows they hate me. But they’re the only ones who might know how to find Hydra and how to take them down. Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but talk to Fury. I may not like the guy, but Peggy trusted him.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Bucky said. “He gave me his cell phone number in case I needed him while taking over his office hours. I’ll see if I can reach him.” Bucky pulled out his phone and dialed Fury’s number.

The phone rang out. Bucky tried again five times before giving up. 

“Maybe he’s asleep?” Steve suggested.

“I hope that’s all he is,” Bucky said, staring at his phone worriedly.

While Bucky had been attempting to contact Fury, Natasha had pulled up an armchair and was talking in a low voice to Buchanan. Clint was laying on the couch with two different cats battling it out for the spot on his stomach.

“That’s terrible,” Natasha was saying. “I can’t believe you’d want to stay and help after all that.”

Buchanan shrugged. “It’s the only way I know how to be of use,” he said. “And to make up for –” He paused and looked down.

“Hey, what happened to you is not your fault,” Natasha said. “I know what it’s like to have your own mind turned against you, and I’m telling you, it’s not your fault.”

Buchanan smiled, but it was sad and self-deprecating. “I’d be a real jerk to disagree with a dame as lovely as you.”

“Damn straight,” Natasha said and Buchanan let out a surprised laugh.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve asked. Everyone stopped to look at him, standing determined and resolute with his hands clenched by his sides.

“Sure thing, pal,” Buchanan said easily.

“Steve – your Steve – what happened to him?”

Buchanan opened his mouth and then closed it again. “He died.”

“Yeah,” Steve said and he went over to Natasha’s bookshelf. He pulled down Banner’s history of witches book and returned to Buchanan while paging through it. “I read the whole entry on you guys – the Howling Commandos, I mean. You died in 1945 and it says here – ‘Steve Rogers died shortly after in December of the same year while dismantling Hydra from the inside. Rogers’ sacrifice to kill the Red Skull was key to Hydra’s downfall.’ What sacrifice did he make? What happened?”

Buchanan’s mouth pulled into a slight frown. “I don’t know the whole story, only what Peggy told me, which wasn’t much. She was devastated, for obvious reasons.” At Bucky’s questioning look, Buchanan rolled his eyes and said, “They were an item, for a time.”

“Peggy and Steve?” Steve asked, surprised. “But Peggy’s with…”

“Angie, yeah,” Buchanan said. “Look, no one was as surprised as me. That sorta thing wasn’t, uh, regular-like where I come from. Not that there weren’t fairies, y’know, we lived in a hot spot of iniquity growin’ up.”

“Y’know, no one who isn’t an asshole would call it an _iniquity_ ,” Bucky said.

Buchanan shot him a glare. “You think I’m bein’ mean about it? I lived in Peggy’s house for years, remember? I seen firsthand how she and Angie care for each other, so don’t mouth off at me.”

“You were talking about Steve,” Steve reminded him softly.

Buchanan shifted his gaze back to Steve. “Yeah. Foolhardy punk took a dive for the greater good. He was always biting off more’n he could chew. That time it stuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, “for your loss.”

“It was a long time ago,” Buchanan replied, although even through the misty translucent fog that surrounded him, Bucky could tell he was trying not to cry.

“Right, well, that’s enough sad talk for one night, I think,” Natasha said. “Buchanan, we’ll contact you if we have any more questions.”

He nodded and Natasha snuffed out the candle with her fingers. “In the meantime,” she said, “I think you boys should sleep here tonight. This place has protections in place and I don’t think it’s safe for you out there. We should assume Brock knows who you are and that Hydra is looking for you.”

“But we’re nobody!” Bucky protested.

“Maybe, but you can wield that sword, isn’t that right?”

Bucky shot a look at Clint who shrugged. “Yeah,” Bucky admitted.

“That makes you a threat to Hydra,” Natasha said. “You’re staying here.”

“Supposed to give a speech tomorrow,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bucky huffed a laugh. “I think Fury of all people will understand if you bow out.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky woke up warm and comfortable in an unfamiliar, full-sized bed. He burrowed further into the flowery-smelling comforter and pulled a loose pillow closer to his chest.

Except it wasn’t a pillow, it was a body. Bucky had Steve snuggled so close he could feel Steve’s warm, even breaths on his collarbone. Embarrassed, Bucky attempted to extricate himself from Steve without waking him up, but it was useless. By the time Bucky had moved just an inch, Steve had murmured something and opened his eyes.

Bucky removed his arm just as Steve said, “Morning.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “Didn’t mean to, uh…” 

“You’re blushing,” Steve said. He’d pulled back, but he was still only inches away. His blue eyes flicked between Bucky’s and a smile played on his face.

“Am not,” Bucky protested, but he could feel himself burning with it.

Steve laughed. “Yes you are! You’re blushing! Finally some retribution!”

“You don’t know shit, Rogers. You’re not wearing your glasses; you’re blind!”

“I’m nearsighted, asshole.”

“Fuckin’ punk,” Bucky muttered and pulled the blanket to cover his face up to his eyes.

Steve tugged it back down as he laughed. “Don’t hide it. It’s nice to see you blush for a change. It’s always me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but let Steve pull the blanket back down and stare at him. The sun had just come up and was streaming through the window in Natasha’s guest bedroom. (Clint had elected to take the couch downstairs.) “What time is it?” Steve asked, turning away from Bucky to grab his glasses and phone off the nightstand. Bucky shrugged. Steve pushed his glasses on and turned on his phone. “It’s 7. We should get going if we want to catch Fury before class.”

Neither Clint nor Natasha were awake when Steve and Bucky went downstairs. Bucky eyed the sword still sitting in its chalk circle and decided if all hell broke loose, he’d feel better with it.

It was ten ‘til 8 when Steve and Bucky made it onto campus with a hefty cab fee. Fury’s office door was closed, but the light was on. Bucky knocked.

Fury opened the door, took one look at the sword in Bucky’s hand, and scowled. “Something wrong, Mr. Barnes? Mr. Rogers?” he asked.

“No, sir. Not exactly,” Bucky said. “We have some information for you. It’s about Hydra.”

Bucky didn’t think it was possible, but Fury scowled harder. He stepped back into his office and Steve and Bucky followed him inside. Once the door was shut and Bucky and Steve had taken a seat in front of Fury’s desk, Fury crossed his arms over his sizeable chest. “How many times do I have to tell you boys before you get it through your thick skulls?”

“But, sir, listen, we have proof!” Bucky protested.

Fury was quiet, studying the boys each in turn. Finally, he sighed and sat behind his desk. “All right,” he said. “You have proof that a criminal supernatural agency active during World War II is somehow still active and functioning in today’s world? Let’s hear it.”

Their rack of evidence suddenly waned in the wake of Fury’s gaze. Still, Bucky was convinced and at the very least, Fury should hear his suspicions. 

“Our friend, the witch,” Bucky said. “She was attacked. Her shop was raided. Whoever did it took all the necessary ingredients to bind spirits to weapons - _exactly_ what Hydra was known for! Not only that, but we were able to trace one of the people who broke in and he’s somehow involved with a coven that calls themselves Hydra. There’s no way that’s a coincidence! And then we were at a dinner thing and that same guy shows up and threatens us!”

“That’s your evidence?” Fury asked.

“I know it’s not much, sir, but Natasha said that this guy Brock was bad news. Apparently he was supposed to be dead or – ”

“I hope to God you don’t mean Brock Rumlow,” Fury said.

“Yes! Yes, that’s the one!” Bucky exclaimed. “If you’ve heard of him, then he must be bad news, right?”

“Hardly. Brock Rumlow has been a trusted member of SHIELD for five years now.”

Bucky’s heart plummeted.

“But he threatened us!” Steve said desperately.

Fury held up a hand to silence them. “If Brock said anything, it was for your own protection. He isn’t known for his bedside manner, that’s for sure. Whatever he said or did, I can assure you it wasn’t meant maliciously. I trust Brock.”

“But Natasha said –,” Bucky started.

“Natasha Romanoff,” Fury cut in, loud and clear, “has violated a dozen SHIELD regulations for the concealment, containment, and distribution of supernatural and spiritual antiquities and articles in the past two years alone. Whatever she’s been telling you is no doubt another scheme to save her own skin.”

“Maybe it’s a… different Natasha?” Steve said weakly.

“If she’s a spitfire redhead with an attitude, then I don’t think so,” Fury replied. He leaned forward on his desk. “Look, I know you’re just trying to help and I will be the first on the hunt-Hydra team if they reappear. However, until such a time, you two should focus on your studies. Now, I have to get to class. I hope you’re ready to present, Mr. Rogers?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Steve said.

Fury nodded and stood. They all shuffled out of his office. Fury turned to them and pointed at the sword. “I won’t tell you again. Exorcise that thing. It’s not good for anyone involved for him to be hanging around.” 

Once Fury was out of sight, Steve turned to Bucky and said, “He can’t be serious about presenting, can he? I mean, I can’t present! Not with all this shit going on!”

Bucky sighed. “I want to believe Natasha, but maybe Fury’s right. Maybe Hydra isn’t back. Maybe we just… misread things.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Steve said.

“I’m not being an idiot! And besides, Hydra or no, you still have to pass this class. Just do it today and get it over with.”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t. Bucky, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Steve, what’s –?” 

Steve started breathing heavily and shook his head. He closed his eyes tight and wrapped his arms around himself. “I can’t,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “It’s okay, Steve. Hey, look at me.” Steve looked up but his breaths were coming in short, quick bursts. “I think you’re having a panic attack,” Bucky said.

“Fuck. You,” Steve huffed out.

“Still charming as ever, though,” Bucky replied. “Let’s go over here.” He nudged Steve until he took the few steps to the bench outside Fury’s office. They sat.

Bucky rubbed circles on Steve’s back while Steve tried to catch his breath. Five minutes later, Steve sat up straight. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said.

“It’s not. You shouldn’t have to deal with this – with me.”

“Now who’s the idiot?” Bucky asked and Steve gave him a half-hearted glare.

“I never wanted you to see me like that,” Steve said.

Bucky studied Steve for a long moment. “Six years ago, I used to have something like a dozen panic attacks a day over nothing at all. Little things – everything – set me off. If I had to take a different route to class because of construction or _whatever_ , it was the end of the world.”

“Why?” Steve asked, then he quickly shook his head. “Sorry, no, that was a stupid question. You don’t have to answer.”

“It was after the accident. After I lost my arm,” Bucky said. “Coping is not one of my strong suits. I had a really hard time adjusting afterward. So believe me when I say that you freaking out on me is nothing new. I could outdo your panic attacks no sweat.”

“Is everything a competition for you?” Steve quipped.

“Only when I can win.”

Steve let out a soft laugh. “You’re right,” he said after a beat of silence. “I should get this speech over with. Then I can focus on the final. I should do this. I have to do this.”

“You’re gonna be great,” Bucky said. “And if you end up passing out or something, I’ll just distract everyone so they look away from you, then we can make our escape.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I dunno. Toss my arm at someone?”

Steve barked a laugh. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’d throw my prosthesis at a college student for you any day, Steve.”

“That’s so romantic, Buck.”

Bucky grinned. “I’m a sap, what can I say? Now, let’s go. You got a speech to give!”

  


* * *

  


“Lets start at the bottom of the roster,” Fury said. Bucky thought he actually saw the blood drain from Steve’s face. “Zoey White.”

There were four students between Zoey and Steve and as Steve’s turn to give his speech drew closer, his leg bounced harder and faster against the ground. Bucky tried to give him reassuring looks, but every one was met with a deeper frown and a pinched brow. Finally, Steve’s turn came and with one last, furtive look at Bucky, he went to the front of the classroom. 

Most of the class stared at their desks or various notebooks in lieu of Steve since the only thing worse than being bad at public speaking was having to listen to someone who was bad at public speaking.

Steve cleared his throat. “I had complete heart block, an undeveloped lung, and 36 different medical conditions when I was born.” That got most of the room’s attention and Bucky prayed the newfound attention wasn’t going to cause Steve to choke. His voice wavered at the beginning and he said one part out of order and forgot a section completely, but overall it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was downright _average_ , which was exceptional for someone as prone to nervousness as Steve was. 

The class clapped loudly and at least one kid whooped, causing Steve to turn bright red before he rushed back to his seat and stared at his lap for five minutes. Once the next student was up and had started his speech, Steve finally looked up and over at Bucky. Bucky gave him a thumbs-up. Steve smiled.

  


* * *

  


“It was so much easier than I thought it was going to be!” Steve said with a huge grin as he rounded on Bucky in the hallway outside the classroom. “I mean, not _easy_ , but I feel like… like maybe all the excitement of the past few weeks has really put things in perspective for me. What’s the point in being afraid all the time when there are literal ghosts out there?”

Bucky laughed. “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he said. 

“I can’t wait to tell Sam,” Steve continued as they followed the small crowd heading up the stairs and out of the building. 

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled,” Bucky said sincerely.

“I’m still nowhere near ready enough for the gala speech, but I think you were right. Practice. I need to practice.”

“You have until May,” Bucky reminded him. “In the meantime, we can practice every day if you want.”

“Gotta write the speech first,” Steve said. 

“That’s all right. That wasn’t the kind of practicing I was talking about anyway,” Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows.

Steve snorted and pushed his arm so Bucky stumbled a little, laughing. “Get to class,” Steve said. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Bucky leaned in and captured Steve’s mouth with a kiss. “Bye, Steve.”

  


* * *

  


BUCKY: Talked to furry. Still convinced hydra isn’t back. Gotta talk 2 u about Nat.  
BUCKY: FURY***  
CLINT: What would a furry know about hydra  
CLINT: lol ok I’m staying at nat’s tonight. She says she may have gotten a lead on hydra. Will let you know if we find anything  
BUCKY: ok. Good night  
CLINT: <333333

Bucky rolled his eyes and switched off his bedside lamp. He supposed if Clint weren’t back home tomorrow he would take a trip over to Natasha’s after class and see if she would admit to anything without Bucky asking. Just because SHIELD didn’t particularly like her didn’t mean she was lying. After all, _someone_ attacked her shop. But it looked less and less like Hydra. And the more Bucky thought about his and Steve’s brief confrontation with Brock, the more it seemed that maybe they were just reading too much into it. He pushed the thoughts away and fell asleep.

He woke up to loud banging coming from the front door at around 2 in the morning. Bucky grabbed his phone and saw that neither Clint nor Steve had texted. His sleep-addled mind immediately went to Hydra next and his heart picked up.

“Calm down, Barnes,” he muttered to himself and rubbed his eyes.

Whoever it was knocked again.

Bucky got up and grabbed the sword from its resting place by his bed before going to the front door. Holding the sword out of sight behind the door, Bucky opened it a crack.

“James, open the door,” the man said.

Bucky dropped the sword in shock. “Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to find out what happened to Bucky's arm next chapter, so stay tuned! 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos, and general lovin'. Makes my day so bright! <3
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky was driving too fast. He wasn’t sure what the exact speed limit was, but it couldn’t be over 45 and he was touching 60. He didn’t slow down. He _couldn’t_ slow down.

As the rural roads of southern Indiana stretched into suburbia, Bucky finally slowed and checked his phone one more time. 6090 Turquoise Drive. He scanned the green street signs until he found the subdivision and finally Turquoise Drive. The house wasn’t hard to spot – it was the only one lit up and occasionally spitting out wasted teenagers onto its lawn.

Bucky double-parked by a Jeep and raced toward the house, typing in his phone the whole time. 

BUCKY: Here. Where is she?  
PIETRO: ahhh shit mnnnice come in!!! i hn t seen her  
BUCKY: where are you?

Bucky skirted his way past a group of loud jocks on the front porch pouring beer in the mouth of a kid on the ground who was pumping his fists excitedly. Bucky vaguely recognized him from gym class the previous year. 

He dodged another guy – tall, lanky, very white and very trashed – as he hurtled toward the front door and immediately expelled the contents of his stomach all over the bushes. Bucky checked his phone. It was 2 in the morning and Pietro hadn’t texted back.

“Hey,” Bucky said, tugging on some tough-looking guy’s sleeveless muscle shirt. “You seen Rebecca Barnes around?”

The guy took a moment to focus on Bucky’s face, then he smiled wide. “Oh shit, you’re Bucky Barnes, yeah?” He grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and said conspiratorially, “Dude, your sister is _wasted_. Cool chick, though. She can knock ‘em back. Hey, you stickin’ around, smart guy?”

“Just here for my sister. Where is she?” Bucky said.

“Shit, that’s too bad. You’re probably goin’ to, uh, to,” the guy tried really hard to think of something and finally came up with, “Chess Club.” He cackled at his bad joke.

“My sister, shit-for-brains,” Bucky said.

“Brooooo,” the guy said and switched to grabbing Bucky’s arms and shaking him. “Don’t be mad, man. Look, she’s right over there.”

Bucky extricated himself from the guy and looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, Rebecca was there, standing on a couch and dancing with her arms over her head, her long, dark hair flying wild around her.

Bucky made a beeline for her, pushing people aside when they drunkenly stepped in his way. He was offered no less than four drinks in the twenty steps it took to get to her.

“Becca,” Bucky said loudly. The stereo was right there and probably breaking the neighbors’ eardrums, never mind his own. “Becca!” he yelled again when she didn’t hear.

That one got her attention, but no sooner had she recognized him than Bucky was being dragged away by a sturdy and warm arm around his shoulders. “Bucky, you came!” 

Bucky ducked under the arm and stepped back. “Roger?” Roger was a lacrosse player and hadn’t given Bucky a second glance in the four years they spent in high school together. He was a tall guy and fit, too, with a sandy blond mop that girls wet themselves over. Bucky didn’t get it.

“Yeah, man, hey! You came! That’s so cool!” Roger leaned forward to scream-whisper, “Becky’s been talkin’ shit about you, but I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bucky said, side-eyeing his sister who was attempting to step off the couch without crushing someone in the process.

“She’s awesome, though! She’s havin’ a great time! You’re so cool for letting her come!”

Bucky didn’t have the time or patience to explain that he never in a million years would have _let her_ come.

“She’s 16!” Bucky shouted back.

“That’s cool, man! I’m 17!”

“I’m not sharing ages, I’m– Never mind.” Bucky turned and found that Rebecca had finally found her way to solid ground.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked, wavering where she stood.

“Saving your ass,” Bucky said. “I covered for you, but we gotta go. Now.”

Rebecca whined and almost fell to the floor, but Bucky was faster. He threw an arm around her waist and then put her arm around his shoulders. “Okay,” Bucky said. “We’re leaving.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” she said and pushed him hard in the ribs.

He dropped her and she fell into a group of close-knit dancers who gave her dirty looks.

“Becca, I’m not leaving here without you,” Bucky said, reaching for her hand.

“Then I guess you’re staying because _I’m_ not going _anywhere_ ,” she said.

“Hey, there you are!”

Bucky turned to find Pietro clutching a red Solo cup and grinning. “Help me,” Bucky said and motioned toward Rebecca. She saw them coming, but was too slow to stop them from bodily dragging her through the crowd and out the front door. She was kicking and screaming expletives, parting the crowd as they went. Fortunately, no one stopped them, which only pissed Bucky off more because who in their right Goddamn mind doesn’t stop two men from dragging off a drunk girl? But he couldn’t think about that now.

By the time they got to the car, Rebecca was looking sullen and resigned to her fate. Bucky opened the passenger door and she slid inside, arms crossed over her chest. “Thanks,” Bucky said to Pietro who nodded. “You need a ride?” Bucky asked.

“Nah, I’m goin’ over to Wanda’s. She lives right down the street. We’re _walking_ ,” he added when Bucky gave him a look.

“Fine. Call me if you need anything,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, you too.”

“Thanks for letting me know about her,” Bucky said.

“Sure thing, bro,” Pietro replied with a drunk smile and left.

Bucky climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

“I don’t _want_ to leave. I was having _fun_ ,” Rebecca whined.

“Put on your seatbelt,” Bucky said. “And you were _drunk_. There’s a difference, surprisingly.”

Rebecca snorted. “Yeah, like _you’d_ know,” she said.

“I would, actually. Put your seatbelt on.”

“You shouldn’t have covered for me. I had it figured out.”

“Yeah, I heard your plan. You told Mom and Dad you were going to Theresa’s. Well, guess who they called?”

“Shiiiiiit,” Rebecca breathed.

“Yeah. And then guess who they called after that?”

“You?” Rebecca guessed miserably.

“Me,” Bucky agreed.

“What’d you tell them?”

Bucky sighed. “That I wanted to go to this party and that I made you come to be my designated driver.”

“You did _what_?! Mom and Dad are going to kill you!”

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m leaving for college in two months, isn’t it? Whatever they do to me is gonna be a lot better than anything they would do to you if they found out the truth. Now, put on your seatbelt.”

Rebecca groggily pulled on her seatbelt and laid her head against the window. “I don’t feel good,” she mumbled.

“That would be the ten thousand gallons of beer you drank,” Bucky said under his breath. He started the car and pulled onto the road. 

“I can’t believe you covered for me,” Rebecca said. 

“You’re my sister. Of course I did. Even if I was having a great time with Peter at the time. All we have to worry about is sneaking you in the house.”

“I ruined your date?” Rebecca moaned dramatically. “God, and I was such a _dick_ to you,” she said. “The shit I said… I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s fine. The date turned into us falling asleep while playing Halo anyway.”

“No, you didn’t hear what I – I said some shitty things. Please forgive me, Buck. Please.” She grabbed his arm pleadingly.

“Don’t worry about it, Becca, it’s fine,” Bucky said.

He pulled off onto the main road back to their house some 20 minutes away. 

“So why’d you go to this stupid party anyway? I thought you hated the assholes who go to those,” Bucky said.

Rebecca groaned. “I don’t know,” she said. “It was stupid, but school’s out and you’re going to college in a couple months and I’m gonna be stuck in this shitty town and I got a C in chemistry.” She dropped her head in between her knees and whimpered.

“A C really isn’t that bad,” Bucky said. “Certainly nothing that should inspire you to spend more than a minute in the same room as Roger Perth.”

Rebecca snorted and then groaned. “Oh Jesus, how do people do this?”

“Please don’t get sick in my car,” Bucky said. “And about college – I’m coming back, y’know. For Thanksgiving and Christmas and I’ll have the whole summer to spend with your dumb ass.”

“It’s not that,” she said, her voice muffled and sad. “You got into _Harvard_ , Buck. Fucking _Harvard_. And you were on the waiting list for Yale and a bunch of other schools _asked you_ to apply. Who does that? Jesus. And I’m so fucking _average_.”

“Jesus, Becks,” Bucky said. He flipped off his high beams as a car drove past the other way. “You’re not stupid, you know that. And drinking your life away isn’t going to make it better.”

“It was nice being my own person for once, though. Not the sister of the smartest kid in school. Do you know how fucking old that gets?”

“You’re not average,” Bucky replied. “You’re my sister, so you’re automatically, like, kind of awesome just by relation.”

“Christ, you’re an asshole.”

Bucky grinned. “And need I remind you,” he said. “I’m not _going_ to Harvard so it hardly counts that I got in.”

“You’ll still be all the way in New York, though!” Rebecca complained. She wrapped her arms around her head and groaned.

“Which means when you come to visit, we get to go into the city and –”

  


* * *

  


_Lacerations to the lumbar–_

_– head trauma?_

_– left coracoid process with significant splintering in left clavicle, lateral side_

_– gonna be okay?_

  


* * *

  


“He’s waking up. James? James, can you hear me?”

Bucky swam through the murk of memories and unconscious thought until he reached the surface. A voice – his mother’s voice. He felt his eyelids flicker and he opened his eyes. Piercing pain shot through his temple as light flooded his eyes and he blinked and squinted until he could stand it. He turned his head toward the soft sounds of his mother’s voice.

“James, James, thank God. You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re all right. You’re in the hospital.”

Bucky saw her hand touch his forehead, but it was numb sort of feeling, like his body wasn’t totally awake. He opened his mouth, but his throat was so dry he couldn’t get anything out.

“Here, sweetie, drink this.” A cup of water with a straw swam into view and Bucky drank deep. How long had he been out? 

“Wha’ happened?” he managed to scrape out of his damaged throat.

“An accident,” his mother replied. “You were in an accident.”

Her voice wavered and she did that thing where she cleared her throat that meant she was trying not to cry. Bucky turned his head away to give her the illusion that he didn’t notice, but she grabbed his face and turned his head back. “Don’t look, James. It’s all right. Just look at me.”

Bucky breathed out and furrowed his brow. “What?” he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

“You hit a tree and it – the car didn’t…” She coughed again and wiped away tears that were falling down her face. “You hit it pretty hard. Your arm was… badly damaged.”

It occurred to Bucky suddenly that although he couldn’t feel much of anything throughout his body, no doubt due to some serious drugs they were pumping him full of, his left arm was especially numb.

He swallowed hard and let out a long, shaky breath. He looked at his left arm. The plain, white bedsheet gaped back at him from where his arm should be, where an already-bloodied bandage hugged the dip of his left shoulder.

He breathed and breathed and breathed until he couldn’t anymore, so he screamed instead. He screamed until he was hoarse and three nurses bustled in to hold him down and prick him with something. Until he couldn’t feel anything at all.

  


* * *

  


_BOONVILLE, In._

_Two people sustained injuries after a silver sedan drove across the median of Route 62 causing another car to swerve and hit a tree Saturday morning, according to Indiana State Police._

_The accident occurred at approximately 2:20 a.m. just past Urban Drive. First responders shut down the southbound lane, which weren’t reopened until 5 a.m. Troopers with Indiana State Police said a 2001 Honda Civic was traveling north on Route 62 when its driver, Avery Marks, 22, of Boonville, was distracted by her phone and drifted into oncoming traffic._

_The driver of the other car, James Barnes, swerved to miss Marks and hit a tree on the right side of road traveling at high speeds. Both Barnes and the other passenger, the driver’s sister and a minor, were in critical condition. They were flown to St. Mary’s Hospital._

_Crews from the Boonville Volunteer Fire Department assisted with cleaning up the scene._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(((((
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)


	18. Chapter 18

Steve had been making a habit of keeping his phone on during the night in case something happened with Hydra. At 3 a.m., he received a text from Bucky.

BUCKY: 2884 Brigham St. Bring the sword.

Steve had an anxious mind, so within the five minutes of radio silence between asking Bucky _what the hell is going on_ and a lack of Bucky’s reply, he had pictured him dying a dozen different ways. When the thoughts threatened to send him into full panic mode, he called Clint.

“Hey Steve, what’s up?” Clint answered.

“It's Bucky,” Steve said, unable to hide the panic in his voice.

“Is he all right?”

“I don’t know. He texted me this address, told me to bring the sword? I’m freaking out. What if Hydra got him?”

“Oh, well, I mean, let’s not jump to conclusions here. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“He asked for the sword, Clint! Why else would he do that?! Better yet, why would he be texting me random addresses at 3 in the morning?”

“All right, all right,” Clint said. His voice became muffled and he could hear a female voice in the background. There was some shuffling noises, and then Natasha was on the line.

“Steve, what was the address?” she asked.

Steve went back into his texts and read it off for Natasha. After a few moments, she said, “It’s an inn.”

Clint said something that Steve didn’t quite hear, but Natasha shot back with, “They live in the same building, dumb ass. If it was a booty call, he’d just walk up the damn stairs.”

It was a testament to the amount of anxiety roiling in Steve’s belly that he didn’t turn beet-red at the accusation.

“I really think he’s in trouble,” Steve said. “I just have a feeling.”

“I can’t help but agree,” Natasha said. “You stay put. Clint and I are gonna swing by and pick you up on the way.”

“Should I bring the sword? What if it’s a trap? What if it’s actually Hydra?”

“If it’s Hydra, then we’ll need the sword anyway,” Natasha pointed out. “And while you’re waiting for us, go downstairs and make sure Bucky isn’t actually home, that this isn't just some asshole who stole his phone.”

They hung up, Steve threw on some clothes, left a hasty note for Sam, grabbed his shield, and practically ran down the stairs to Bucky’s apartment. He paused outside Bucky’s door, praying silently that he would answer and this all would be a big misunderstanding.

Steve knocked three times, loudly. “Bucky, you in there?” Steve called out. As a last ditch attempt, he tried the handle to the door and was shocked when it opened without a hitch. “Bucky?” he said. He glanced around the apartment, but it was empty. He quickly checked Clint’s room and finally Bucky’s room; he was really gone. The sword was, too. It wasn’t until Steve gave up guiltily scrounging around Bucky’s room and went back into the living room that he saw the sword sitting on the ground by the front door, hidden from view unless you were already inside the apartment.

“Wish you could tell me what happened, Buchanan,” Steve muttered and entertained the idea of a séance briefly before he heard familiar voices coming down the hall.

Clint was the first to step through, followed closely by Natasha.

“The sword was just sitting next to the door,” Steve said. “That’s not a good sign, is it?”

Natasha and Clint exchanged a look and Natasha said, “We should get going.”

The address led to south Brooklyn right on the harbor, not far from where Natasha’s shop and home were. “I could have met you here,” Steve said as they rolled up into the empty parking lot of a dilapidated inn.

“We were in Prospect Park chasing down a loose jackalope,” Clint said. “You were on the way.”

“Okay, before we go in,” Natasha said, “we need to have a discussion. First, I go first. Second, don’t do anything stupid that’s going to get you killed. Third, we might be dealing with Hydra here, so let’s be careful. Got it?”

“Should we call SHIELD?” Clint asked. “I mean, new SHIELD?”

“Bucky gave me Fury’s number,” Steve said and quickly dialed it. It went immediately to voicemail, so he left a message detailing Bucky’s text and their suspicions regarding Hydra.

They climbed out of Natasha’s car and stared at the unassuming inn with varied emotions. Steve gripped both shield and sword, knowing he probably looked like an idiot but feeling better in spite of it. 

The front door was unlocked, which wasn’t too surprising given that the majority of the front windows were shattered and patched with soggy cardboard.

Inside, the inn had clearly been going through some renovations before it was shuttered; sheet plastic blocked the view past the lobby, and the rooms on the first floor didn’t have walls anymore, just pieces of lumber standing naked without drywall. Everything was dark. Natasha clicked something and a little flashlight with a powerful beam illuminated farther into the building.

“Bucky!” Clint called out loudly. He grunted when Natasha elbowed him hard in the stomach.

“What the fuck?” she hissed. “Rule number two – don’t do anything stupid.”

“Sorry, I –”

“Hey.” Bucky pushed aside the plastic sheeting and walked toward them. He was still wearing his pajamas bottoms with a hoodie and his hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed in relief. “What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky replied. He glanced over at Natasha and Clint. “You didn’t have to bring them, but thanks for coming. I didn’t mean to scare you. My dad showed up acting kinda crazy. I thought maybe it was Hydra related, but it looks like a false alarm.”

“Your _dad_?” Clint asked, incredulous.

Steve wanted to ask. He knew the parents thing was a sore spot, and clearly Clint knew more than Steve did, but he’d ask later when they weren’t standing in a creepy, deserted inn.

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Just showed up and brought me here. Anyway, there’s nothing here. My dad’s gone back home.”

“But why here?” Natasha asked, eyes slightly narrowed.

Bucky shrugged. “No idea. Dad brought me here, took one look around, and decided to leave. Like I said, false alarm. But that’s my dad for ya. He’s always been a bit overexcited.” 

“Bucky, what are you –?” Clint started to say, but was cut off by Natasha who said, “I think your dad was onto something. I feel it. There’s definitely something here. I think we should take a look around. Clint?” She motioned further in and they disappeared from where Bucky came.

“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. “Thanks, pipsqueak.”

Steve frowned. “What?”

“Just sayin’ thanks,” Bucky said. “Give me the sword, would ya?”

“Why would you say that?” Steve asked.

“What? Look at you! You’re tiny!” Bucky replied with a small laugh, holding out his hand toward Steve.

Steve took a tentative step back. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“What are you –? What, did I offend you? Jesus, are you always so damn ornery?”

Steve bristled at the accusation and took another step back. This time, Bucky took a step forward.

“Just give me the sword,” he said.

“No,” Steve said. “You’re not acting right, Buck.”

“It’s late. You’re confused,” Bucky said. His voice dropped lower and he ducked his head, giving himself an almost predatory look. 

Steve raised his shield without even thinking about it and gripped the sword a little tighter. “We’re gonna go home and figure this out, Bucky,” he said. “But I can’t let you have the sword until then.”

Bucky stopped advancing and stood straight again. He tilted his chin up and shot Steve a cheeky grin, eyes hooded and confident. “Sure thing, runt,” he said and he lunged. Steve sidestepped him just in time, but lost his balance and fell to the floor. Bucky was on top of him in an instant and Steve thrust his shield out to catch Bucky in the stomach with it. Bucky grunted and fell to the side, gripping his stomach. He groaned and then inhaled sharply as Steve scurried back and onto his feet again.

“Stay back!” Steve shouted as Bucky rolled onto his knees. 

Bucky looked up at him. “Steve?” he said. He looked around. “Where am I?” He cried out suddenly, dropping his head to the ground and pulling his hair with his hand. “Steve, you have to– go, please– before it’s– Hydra, they’ve done something to me, I–” He let out another yell just as Clint and Natasha raced back through the sheet plastic.

“What the hell’s going on?” Natasha said, coming to a stop beside Steve.

“It’s Bucky, he’s… possessed?” Steve said, eyes never leaving the shaking, shivering form of Bucky.

“That’s not possible!” Natasha said. “A living person can’t –” She gasped. “Shit. That’s what they’re doing isn’t it? Hydra’s moved out of the weapon business and now they’re doing… _this_.” Natasha put a hand over her mouth in horror.

“Well, do something!” Clint shouted. “A spell! Something!”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “I can’t,” she said. “It would… It would kill him if I – You can’t just remove one soul and leave the other. It’s impossible. I couldn’t…” She let out a choked sob.

“Steve,” Bucky hissed out. “You gotta –” He groaned again and shook his head, his hair falling in his eyes. “I can’t hold on much longer. You have to stab me. With the sword. You have to –” He cried out again and collapsed, completely still.

“I can’t stab you!” Steve said.

“I think you have to,” Natasha said.

“Maybe you can just, like, cut him a little?” Clint suggested.

Steve nodded. He liked that idea a lot better. He crept toward the still form of Bucky curled on the floor, sword pointed ahead of him. “I’m real sorry about this,” Steve muttered before lashing forward and cutting the top of Bucky’s right arm. Steve pulled back quickly as the gash spilled smoke and hissed angrily.

The room went silent. “Bucky?” Steve said softly.

“Not anymore,” Bucky spat and launched himself at Steve again. Steve thrust out the shield, but Bucky was expecting it this time. He dodged and knocked Steve to the ground. He clambered on top and reached for his neck, but then he was yanked back.

Natasha and Clint hoisted him back, Natasha holding back his arm and Clint with his arms around Bucky’s middle. Bucky screamed and yelled and thrashed, but it was no use.

“Do it now, Steve!” Natasha shouted as Bucky floundered helplessly.

Steve rolled onto his feet and stared at Bucky, eyes wide and pleading. “I can’t! You heard what Buchanan said! The sword is a normal sword. It _kills_! I can’t!”

As if woken by his name, the sword moved in Steve’s hand and drew itself up toward Bucky. 

“I know what he said,” Natasha argued, “but we don’t have any other choice!”

Steve watched in horror as the sword in his grip tugged him closer to Bucky, to the place just under his ribs. “Jesus, you’d better be right, Buchanan,” Steve whispered. 

With one last shaky breath, Steve thrust the sword forward with all of his strength. It slid through Bucky’s middle unnaturally well, like a hot knife through butter. Bucky doubled over and Natasha and Clint let him fall. In the same instant, the sword was propelled backward with such force that Steve went flying with it, landing several feet back on his ass.

Bucky fell forward in a slump, completely still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh
> 
> sorry
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)


	19. Chapter 19

“Bucky, Bucky, oh God, please be alive.” Steve scrambled toward Bucky as Natasha and Clint turned him over. He was pale and his mouth hung open, but he was breathing.

“Oh thank God,” Natasha breathed.

Steve finally reached him and smoothed his hair back from his face. “Bucky, can you hear me? Please wake up,” he said. His eyes wandered lower to the place where he’d stabbed Bucky. His black hoodie and the poor lighting hid any damage Steve might have done. Steve’s hands, shaking and pale, pulled up the hoodie to reveal Bucky’s stomach.

There wasn’t a scratch on him.

Steve breathed out a sigh of relief just as Bucky grunted. “Haven’t even bought you dinner, Stevie,” Bucky said weakly.

Steve let out a choked laugh and threw his arms around Bucky’s neck. “Jesus, I thought I killed you,” he mumbled into Bucky’s neck. Steve felt Bucky’s arm wrap around him and squeeze weakly.

“Have to try harder ‘n that,” Bucky said. Steve sat back on his heels as Bucky sat up with a groan. “Although, A for effort. Jesus, my head hurts.”

“We should get out of here before anyone else shows up,” Natasha said, glancing around suspiciously.

“You guys should,” Bucky agreed. “My dad’s still here. I have to find him.”

“You weren’t lying about your dad?” Clint asked.

“No. He showed up at my door and told me… Well, it doesn’t matter. He brought me here and I was ambushed by these guys.” Bucky looked at Natasha and said, “Rumlow was there. And there’s this other guy – Pierce.”

“What’d he look like?” Natasha asked.

“Older white guy, blonde hair?”

“Could be the leader. I never knew anyone else’s name after going that once with Rumlow,” Natasha said thoughtfully.

Clint held out a hand and Bucky took it gratefully. He was unsteady on his feet and Clint put Bucky’s arm around his shoulders. “But it’s your _dad_ ,” Clint said softly. “You really wanna put your life on the line for _him_?”

Bucky shook his head. “I have to. I can’t just leave him.”

“Then we’re not leaving either,” Natasha said. “How many other people were there, do you know?”

“Maybe six or seven? I didn’t count, but there weren’t a lot. At least, not that I saw,” Bucky said.

“Well, we’d better get started, then,” Natasha said.

  


* * *

  


Bucky gripped the sword with his left hand and welcomed the familiar, warm buzz that went along with the ghostly apparition.

“Ready?” Steve asked.

Bucky huffed. “As I’ll ever be,” he replied. “I’ll go first,” he announced to the group. “And if anything happens to me, one of you has to take the sword and get out of here. Hydra’s been looking for it and they won’t stop ‘til they get it.”

Natasha smacked Bucky on the back of the head and he yelped. “Don’t be so melodramatic,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She stepped past them and led the way past the sheet plastic further into the inn. The hallway was dark and with only Natasha’s flashlight shedding any light, downright spooky. Steve was primed to jump at the slightest sound, enemy or not. Fortunately, his increased adrenaline allowed him to react quickly when Brock Rumlow himself burst out from behind another sheet of plastic right ahead of them. Steve automatically thrust out the shield and it collided with the side of Rumlow’s head. He stumbled backward and shook his head. That was when Steve realized he was holding a gun. Rumlow went to attack again when Natasha jumped at him, taking him by surprise and knocking him onto his back. There was a struggle that happened too fast for anyone to help and suddenly Rumlow was unconscious and Natasha had her knee in his back and his hands behind him.

“Clint, grab that extension cord over there, would you?” she asked politely, barely having broken a sweat.

Clint hurried back with the extension cord which she tied expertly around Rumlow’s wrists and then tied Rumlow around a solid piece of lumber that made up part of the nonexistent wall of a motel room.

“That should hold him. We’ll call SHIELD when this is all over and they can deal with him. In the meantime –” Natasha was cut short when three other men came bursting through the plastic. They, at least, didn’t have guns, but the knives they were holding didn’t look any less dangerous.

The group sprung into action. Natasha took down one guy in record time while Clint threw a few punches at another. Steve was able to block an incoming knife jab and Bucky knocked the guy unconscious by hitting him in the back of the head with the hilt of the sword. But more men were coming and there were definitely more than six or seven.

“I have to find my dad!” Bucky shouted over the noise.

“Go! We’ll keep them occupied!” Natasha replied as she did some truly terrifying move using just her thighs. 

Bucky saw a hole in the fighting and made a break for it. He remembered coming through this way the first time. There was a big, open space at the other end of the building where Pierce was and where his father had led him, so he quickly made his way there. There were utility lights hanging intermittently throughout the unfinished rooms, shedding irregular light.

A man ran into him when he was almost there and Bucky stumbled to the side before brandishing his sword.

“Dad?” Bucky cried out.

It was his father and he looked out of breath and terrified. “James,” his father said. “Thank God. I finally got away. We need to go.”

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Bucky asked.

His father smiled affectionately, an alien look on his weathered face. “I’m fine, James. Just fine. Let’s go.”

Bucky stood his ground. “How do I know you’re not possessed?” he asked.

His father looked affronted by the accusation. “James, it’s me. It’s your father.”

“Prove it,” Bucky said, taking a step back.

His father rolled his eyes. It was the first thing he’d done that was even remotely dad-like. “Fine. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, born March 10th. When your mother brought you home, you puked all over our new sofa and cried.”

Bucky had heard the same story told dozens of times at family reunions and the like, but he knew from experience that the spirit who possessed him knew things about Bucky that were impossible to know without having access to his memories.

“Not good enough,” Bucky said. “I was possessed. It knew things like that, too.”

His father groaned. “What do you want me to say, then?” he asked, frustrated. He leveled Bucky with a sharp look. “I forgive you.”

Bucky’s heart dropped into his stomach and he forgot how to breathe. “What?”

“That’s what you wanna hear, right? I forgive you, James. What happened – it wasn’t your fault. I was wrong to blame you. Your sister –”

Bucky strode forward with the sword raised. “Shut up,” Bucky said and was surprised to hear his voice waver.

His father stood his ground. “I forgive you,” he said. “I don’t care how many times I have to say it. _I forgive you_.”

“SHUT UP!” Bucky shouted and touched the point of the sword to his father’s middle.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve cried out somewhere behind him.

Bucky shook his head, never looking away from his father. His father was finally starting to look nervous, the sword point digging maliciously into the fabric of his coat. 

“Please, son,” his father begged quietly.

Bucky put his full weight behind the sword and ran it through his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping with the theme of not knowing whether one of our main characters BECAME A MURDERER or not.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)!


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky’s first thought when he saw Rebecca was that he had the wrong room. Not that she didn’t look like herself – she had the Barnes face and dark brown hair that were unmistakably hers. But there was no way that the person hooked up to all those tubes, wires, and machines was his sister. 

He edged closer to the hospital bed and looked down on her. The machine filling her lungs with air intermittently made her chest rise and fall unnaturally. 

“Becca,” he breathed. He reached a hand out and brushed the hair off her forehead. She didn’t stir. He looked over at the clipboard at the end of her bed. His mother wouldn’t tell him how bad it was, the doctors wouldn’t either, and he hadn’t seen his father at all in the week of time he’d been lucid enough to remember his absence, but Bucky doubted he could understand anything on that clipboard either.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Bucky turned and saw his dad standing in the doorway to the room, clutching a cup of coffee. He hadn’t shaved at all, it seemed, and the scruffy look made him look even more tired than he probably was.

Bucky turned back to Rebecca and asked, “How bad is it?”

“Who let you in here?”

Bucky looked at his father again in surprise. “No one. It’s the first time the doctor said it was okay for me to be up. I just wanted to–”

“You don’t get to _want_ anything, you sick, selfish fuck,” his father spat. Bucky was too surprised by the words to react immediately. He watched like a deer in headlights as his father went around the other side of the bed and stared down at Rebecca. “You did this,” he said, his voice even. “You did this to her.”

“Dad, I –”

“She’ll never walk again, you hear me?” his father said, his voice rising. “She’ll never–” He choked back a sob and Bucky took a step toward the door. “It’s your fault. It’s your fault! It’s _your fucking fault!_ ”

His father shook with anger and Bucky high-tailed it to the door, throwing himself into the hallway just as something small and white crashed to the floor behind him. He turned back just long enough to see his father’s hot, spilled coffee puddle against the wall before taking off to his own room.

  


* * *

  


Pietro was there when Bucky was discharged. Two months of therapy – mental and physical – as well as countless fittings for a cheap, plastic prosthesis had left him anxious to leave. He hadn’t seen his father since he’d yelled at Bucky and his mother came by about once a week before skipping out five minutes later for a “work meeting”. Rebecca had been moved to a hospital in Indianapolis where she would get the help that she needed, which was _all_ he knew about her situation.

Pietro hugged Bucky for a long time and helped him load his small bag of clothes he was allowed at the hospital into the trunk of his car. Bucky was quiet on the trip home.

Once there, he went straight to his room and started packing, throwing things into his giant duffel bag. He’d planned to take his TV to college, but that didn’t look possible now.

Pietro leaned against Bucky’s bedroom door. “Thought you weren’t leaving for another couple weeks,” he said casually.

“The sooner the better,” Bucky replied and went over to his desk to open his laptop. He searched and bought the next Greyhound ticket out of dodge.

“Drive me to the bus station?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, course, I just don’t think–”

“I know you mean well,” Bucky said, pausing in his hurried whirlwind of a packing job to stare at him, “but I have to get out now.”

Pietro put up his hands in defeat. “Just say the word.”

  


* * *

  


“You gonna be okay over there? You have a place to stay?” Pietro asked. He was squeezing Bucky’s shoulder hard.

“Yeah, the landlord of the place I was going to rent during school said the place is free now,” Bucky lied easily. “Don’t worry about me.”

Pietro snorted a laugh and pulled Bucky into one last, long hug. “Not likely, dude. Take care of yourself. And if things don’t work out, you know you got a place with me. Wanda would sure be happy. She’s still got a weird crush on you, you know.”

“It’s only weird because you’re immune to my charms,” Bucky joked half-heartedly. “Tell her thanks. And that if I were straight, she’d totally be first on my list.”

“I’m sure she’ll be real happy to hear that,” Pietro replied with a grin.

The bus rolled up and Pietro helped Bucky stash his duffel in the lower baggage compartment of the bus. He waved at Pietro from the window as the bus pulled away. Every mile between him and home he felt a little better or maybe just more numb.

In the end, did it matter which it was?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small, quick flashback chapter before I disappear for a few days. I'll HOPEFULLY post another chapter on Thursday, but no promises. Definitely not Friday (Merry Christmas!) so at the latest, Monday. 
> 
> Cheers, all!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com)


	21. Chapter 21

Bucky’s father crumpled to the floor just as the sword was propelled backward, throwing Bucky with it. He hit something hard and fell to the floor. It was Steve. 

“Bucky,” Steve grunted as they both regained their feet. “What’d you do?”

“It wasn’t him,” Bucky said. “It wasn’t – it couldn’t be him.”

“Okay, okay, it’s all right,” Steve said. Bucky felt Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “You stay here. I’ll, um, I’ll check it out.” Bucky nodded once and watched as Steve made his way over to his father, shield braced defensively.

Steve loomed over the limp figure of the man and then bent down to turn him over. A few moments later, Steve turned back to Bucky. “You were right,” he said. “He was possessed.”

Bucky felt the relief of it like a physical weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He walked over to join Steve. At the same moment, Natasha and Clint appeared at a jog. Bucky’s father stirred, but didn’t wake. 

“Clint, can you take him outside?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” he said. “But what are you going to do?”

“Pierce is still here. We should finish this.”

“We could die,” Natasha pointed out. 

“Yeah, well, he just made this personal,” Bucky replied.

Clint went over to Bucky’s father and picked him up in a fireman’s carry. Once he was gone, Natasha came over. “Bucky, you don’t have to do this.”

“I really do.”

“She’s right,” Steve said imploringly. “We should just leave. SHIELD can take care of this.”

“No!” Bucky snapped. “He’ll get away! I’m doing this.”

Without waiting for an agreement, Bucky led the way further into the building. He knew they weren’t far and finally he pushed away a sheet of plastic to reveal the room. It was probably meant to be a recreation room, but now it was a large, empty space with windows high on the walls. A single utility light dangled from the vaulted ceiling illuminating a man dressed in a pressed suit.

“Pierce,” Bucky hissed and advanced quickly.

“That’s close enough,” Pierce said, and as he spoke, ten or more people emerged from the shadows, eyes glinting with malice. “Hand over the sword and these people can go free.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Bucky said.

Pierce looked miffed. “As you wish,” he said. He gestured with his hand and the possessed started at them at a run. 

While Natasha incapacitated with ease, Steve and Bucky worked as a unit. They learned quickly that if a person touched the shield, they would briefly regain control of their own body. It gave them enough of an opening for Bucky to use the sword to sever the bond while Steve watched his back. 

Natasha choked out the last person while Steve and Bucky regained their breath. Pierce was impressed, if slightly annoyed. “It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it, the sword?” he said. “Buchanan worked with us tirelessly for years. It’s a shame he’s forgotten his true purpose.”

The sword tugged Bucky forward and he had to agree – this guy needed to die. He advanced slowly and Pierce watched with interest. Bucky was just five feet away when he hit some sort of invisible wall.

“I’m afraid you took out my most skilled witch,” Pierce said. “Rumlow set up some protections for me before he left, though. No magical persons or objects past this point. You know, Bucky, you could join us. Your skill with that sword is undeniable. And what we’re doing – it’s noble.”

“Possessing people is noble?” Bucky asked. “In what universe?”

“In this one!” Pierce said with a smile. “Shouldn’t those spirits who are wandering around helplessly get a chance to walk again? For a small price, of course, that they work for us. Think about it. An army unafraid to die because they’re already dead!”

“Yeah, all it costs is the lives of innocent people,” Steve said, coming up to stand by Bucky.

Pierce grinned. “How is that any different than what our fine government is doing now?”

“People volunteer to go to war,” Bucky said. He tried to press forward without Pierce noticing, but whatever barrier was protecting him was too strong.

“Do they? You have the notion of patriotism jammed into your brains before you can add and subtract. One might call it brainwashing. Does anyone who volunteers to die really understand what they're doing? I’m inviting you, James, into a world where –”

A shot rang out, echoing off the rafters and making Bucky’s ears ring. Pierce dropped like a dead weight and to Bucky’s left, Natasha flipped the safety back on her gun.

“Jesus, Natasha!” Bucky shouted, incredulous.

“What? I don’t do boss battles,” she replied with a shrug. “We should go before any cops show up.”

  


* * *

  


Back in the parking lot, Clint was crouched down by Bucky’s father, saying something in a low voice while the man grimaced from where he was sitting on the asphalt, leaning against Natasha’s car tire. Clint stood when he saw Natasha, Steve, and Bucky walking toward him and he smiled.

“You’re alive!” he announced as they joined him.

“Have a little faith,” Natasha replied.

Bucky’s father struggled up to his feet and Bucky rushed over to help. “I’m fine,” his father grunted, but didn’t push Bucky away, which Bucky took as a win.

“You can stay at my place until you feel good enough to drive,” Bucky said.

“No. I need to get home.”

“Dad –”

“I’m going home,” he insisted, anger flashing in his eyes.

Bucky clenched his jaw and sighed. “Fine. Then, I’m driving.”

“Like hell you are,” his father replied.

“You can barely stand,” Bucky said, trying to keep his voice even. “I’ll drive you home. Take a plane back.”

“Buck,” Steve said, stepping over to his side. “You sure that’s a good idea? You must be tired.”

Bucky huffed and shook his head. “I don’t think I’m gonna sleep for a while. It’s fine.”

“How far away is it?” Steve asked.

“13 hours, give or take.”

“Buck –”

“I said it’s fine,” Bucky cut in. “We should get going.”

His father didn’t put up a fight when Bucky led him over to his father’s car and he even handed over the keys to Bucky before climbing into the passenger seat.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve said and pulled Bucky slightly to the side. “At least wait until tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Bucky –”

“Steve, please, I have to do this,” Bucky said, voice pleading. “I have to.”

The determination on Steve’s face melted into understanding. “Okay. Pull over if you get tired? And call me, please.”

“I will,” Bucky promised. 

“I’ll get you a plane ticket,” Steve said.

“Steve, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Steve insisted. 

“Well, thanks.”

Steve smiled and leaned up to kiss Bucky quickly before wrapping his arms around his neck. Bucky hugged him back, relishing the warmth before they broke apart and Steve returned to Natasha and Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short. This used to be longer, but I'm getting closer to the end and I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY WRITTEN THE LAST CHAPTER BECAUSE I'M TRASH.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Won't be back until Monday! Happy Christmas to those who celebrate and happy weekend to the rest of ya! 
> 
> [tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	22. Chapter 22

Bucky’s father slept for the first six hours of the trip. He woke up when Bucky pulled into a gas station somewhere in West Virginia and disappeared to hit the head while Bucky pumped gas. Bucky went inside to pay as well as to get a soda and some high-calorie snacks. His father was leaning against the passenger side of the car when Bucky came back out. 

“Need me to drive?” he asked, his voice gruff. 

Bucky looked at him, but he was staring resolutely at his shoes.

“Nah,” Bucky replied. “I’ll let you know if I get tired.”

Bucky was wired. Being in the car with his father had his anxiety fizzling at low levels the entire time he drove, which probably didn’t make for safe driving, but at least it kept him awake. There were so many things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask – about his father, about his mother, but most of all about his sister. How was she? What was she doing? Was she happy? Was she still upset with Bucky? The last Bucky heard of her, she’d gone into physical therapy. Of course, that was after his father had told Bucky that she was paralyzed for life. But given the obviously high levels of emotion at the time, it was hard to say whether or not that had been hyperbole. 

Bucky had come to terms with the fact that the accident hadn’t been his fault. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault but the woman who had gone over the median. But that had taken him years. If Rebecca really had been permanently disabled from the crash, then he couldn’t imagine her ever forgiving him. He’d come to terms with that, too.

At least, he thought he had up until the point when he turned into the achingly familiar driveway outside his family house. It was remarkably unchanged. There had possibly been a paint job and some minor repairs, but even the shrubbery looked exactly the same – uniform, neat, clean. The only significant change was that the stairs had been removed and a shallow, cement ramp had been built in their place.

His father grunted as he got out of the car. Bucky followed suit and they met at the front of the car. There was a dark SUV parked in front of them. It was a reminder that his family had moved on without him. They’d bought new cars.

Bucky handed the car keys to his father. Bucky pulled his phone out and said, “Steve – um, my friend – bought me a plane ticket. I’ll call a cab to drop me at the airport.”

“Fine,” Bucky’s father said and walked to the front door, unlocked it, and disappeared into the house.

Just like that, it was over. Bucky’s chest constricted and he reminded himself to breathe. The screen on his phone blurred as his eyes filled with frustrated tears. He heaved in a huge breath and let it out. He called a cab. It would be a 15-minute wait.

He texted Steve, Natasha, and Clint to update them. Steve immediately called, but Bucky sent him to voicemail. Bucky sent him another text.

BUCKY: Sorry. Can’t talk right now.  
STEVE: I understand. I can’t wait to pick you up from the airport.

The text was followed with a slew of multi-colored heart emojis.

BUCKY: can’t tell if you’re being serious  
STEVE: 100% serious  
STEVE: remember, i’m the romantic one in this relationship  
BUCKY: relationship, huh?  
STEVE: for the record, i totally tried to delete that text before it sent.  
STEVE: sam is here. he’s having a coronary.  
STEVE: sorry  
BUCKY: what’s next, a proposal? takin this way too fast, Stevie.  
STEVE: don’t be ridiculous. the proposal isn’t happening until next week.  
BUCKY: that’s forever away. guess I should return these adoption papers???  
STEVE: yeah. and I’ll get in touch with the realtor and make sure I rescind that offer on the house in suburbia.  
STEVE: also, fuck you

Bucky sent him the same row of multi-colored heart emojis while chuckling to himself. He was so lost in the conversation, he didn’t notice that someone was now headed down the ramp toward him. Bucky’s head snapped up when he spotted the movement and he nearly dropped his phone on the pavement.

“Ma,” he said, so quietly he wasn’t sure she heard. But it didn’t matter because she walked right up to him and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“James,” she breathed and he was surprised to hear that her voice was shaking. She sniffled and only gripped him tighter when he finally convinced his arm to wrap around her.

“Hey,” Bucky said and breathed in the familiar scent of her flowery shampoo mixed with coffee and mint.

She pulled back and placed her hands on either side of his jaw. “Oh, James,” she said. Her eyes roamed over his whole face, taking him in with a watery smile.

Bucky did the same. She was older. There were crow’s feet and deeper frown lines than he remembered from the last time he saw her. Even her hands felt colder and somehow frailer.

“Your hair,” she remarked. She tugged at a strand by his ear and smiled.

Bucky smiled back and laughed lightly. “Yeah. I, uh, need to cut it, I know.” He self-consciously tucked it behind his ear.

His mother shook her head slightly. “I like it,” she said. “It suits you.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” he said weakly.

Her smile widened. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She finally took a step back to take in the rest of him. Her eyes lingered over his left arm where his dark hoodie sleeve was conspicuously empty. “Your father scared us.” She glanced back at his face, worry creasing her brow. “What happened? We had the police looking for him.”

Bucky shook his head. “It was nothing. He, uh, just wanted to talk, that’s all.”

“Without leaving a message? He scared the daylights out of us.”

“I guess it was important,” Bucky said lamely.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn’t comment on the weak excuse. Instead, she said, “Come inside. You’re staying, aren’t you?”

Bucky hesitated and in that moment of indecision, his mother’s happiness dissolved into crushing disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have a plane to catch.”

His mother smiled, although it faltered a few times before she finally nodded shakily. “Of course,” she managed to say. “Yes, of course.”

“I already called a cab,” he said. “Should be here soon.”

“Oh, James,” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll drive you. Your father and I –”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think Dad wants anything to do with me.”

His mother raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean? I thought… You said he went to speak to you. You didn’t…?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Make up?” he finished for her. He snorted a derisive laugh. “No, Ma. He still hates me.”

“Your father doesn’t –”

“Yes, he does,” Bucky cut in sharply. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want to do this again,” he said. “Can we not do this?”

She nodded and closed her eyes briefly. “You’re right,” she said and forced a small smile. She pressed her hand against his cheek. “Just glad to see you.” Before Bucky could protest, she had wrapped him in another tight hug.

He was patting her back lightly when the front door of the house opened again. Bucky expected to see his father, scowling and mean. Instead, he locked eyes with his sister.

The first thing Bucky noticed was that she was in a wheelchair. The second thing was that she looked so much older. He hadn’t seen her in 7 years, when she was 16. At 23, she looked like a real person, someone who could have a _job_ , which was an absolutely ridiculous observation, but still the thing that struck Bucky almost immediately. 

She’d grown up without him.

His mother let him go just as Rebecca rolled toward him, her face unreadable. Bucky’s knees felt weak and he was stuck between wanting to run and wanting to fall down and beg her forgiveness. His mother saw him looking and turned toward Rebecca just as she stopped in front of them.

“Rebecca,” his mother said. She glanced quickly between the two. “I’ll be inside. James, you let me know if you’d rather I take you to the airport.”

“Sure. Thanks, Ma,” he said and he watched as she disappeared into the house.

Finally, he returned his attention to Rebecca, who was staring at him resolutely. 

“Hi,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed and the look was so familiar, Bucky almost laughed. “Hi?” she repeated indignantly. “Hi?! That’s what I get after seven fucking years?!”

Bucky withered and felt the back of his knees touch the bumper of the car behind him. 

“Dick!” she cried out. Her fist flew out and landed a soft blow on his thigh.

“Ow!” he yelped and stumbled backward until he was sitting on the car. “Jesus, Becca!”

“No phone calls! No texts! Not even goddamn _snail mail_?!” Her fury was offset by the redness of her eyes as she teared up. “You disappeared! I can’t believe you just disappeared after everything…” She shook her head. She was crying.

Bucky realized with a jolt that he was crying, too. “Becca,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry’s not good enough!” she shouted.

“I know. I know it’s not. I know I fucked up. It was my fault. It was all my fault and I just left!” Bucky barely held back a sob. He clutched his middle tightly, sick and shaking with the guilt now bubbling over inside of him.

Rebecca touched something on the side of her wheelchair. She leaned forward and for half of a terrifying moment, Bucky thought she was going to fall out, but then in one fluid motion, she stood. She wobbled slightly, then took a step toward him. His mouth dropped open in surprise. 

“Becca, you –”

She hit him hard on the arm.

“Christ!” he shouted. 

She hit him again. “You! Goddamn! Idiot!” she yelled, each word punctuated with a hit.

“Okay, okay, okay!” Bucky said, grabbing her wrist with his hand. “What the hell?!”

“It’s not your fucking fault!” she shouted in response. She hit his arm with the flat of her other hand, but then let her hand linger there. “It’s not your fault, you shithead,” she said.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” he said.

“I don’t blame you for the accident,” Rebecca said. “Why would I?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head slightly.

Rebecca leaned forward and he wrapped his arm around her. They hugged for a long time. Finally, she let him go and backed up shakily until she hit the wheelchair. She sat and let out a breath. 

“You don’t… blame me,” Bucky repeated. 

“Don’t be stupid.”

“But Dad said –”

“Dad’s a fucking liar,” Rebecca cut in. “You should’ve figured that out. At the very least, you should’ve called me and found out for yourself.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “I know. I should have. But I just… hated myself so much for what I did. For what happened. And Dad told me it was my fault.”

“He did _what_?!” Rebecca spat angrily.

“That’s why I ran!” Bucky explained.

“Oh, I’m gonna fucking murder him. I knew he was pissed about this,” she motioned to her legs, “and about the accident. I knew he was pissed that you ran, but I never knew that he… he told you that. Buck, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky looked into his sister’s eyes. They were brimming with tears. “God, I missed you, Becks,” Bucky said.

She let out a choked, wet laugh. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I guess I missed you, too.”

  


* * *

  


_Now boarding American Airlines, Flight 304 at Gate 4._

“That’s me,” Bucky said, looking down at his ticket.

His mother made a disappointed noise and pulled Bucky into a tight hug. “Thanks, Ma,” Bucky said. 

“I have your new number. I’ll call you or you can call. Anytime, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I will, Ma.” Bucky finally extricated himself and turned to Rebecca.

She heaved herself out of her chair and threw herself at Bucky. He threw his arm out to catch her and held her close for a long moment. “I’ll call,” he said.

“You’d better,” she replied. “You’re late on that promise to give me a tour of the big city.”

Bucky smiled as she pulled away. “We’ll make it happen.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky spotted Steve first, his blond hair a beacon among the otherwise drab pedestrians in the airport. Steve was clutching a cup of coffee, still bundled in his winter clothes. His eyes darted among the other passengers coming off the plane. Finally, he saw Bucky and he lit up.

Bucky grinned back as he made his way over. “I hope that’s for me,” Bucky said and without hesitating, took the coffee from Steve’s hand.

“Actually – ,” Steve started, then paused as the drink hit Bucky’s tongue.

“Oh, Christ,” Bucky hissed, handing the drink back to Steve who had burst into laughter. “What the hell is that?”

“Peppermint latte with soy milk,” Steve said with a grin. 

Bucky made a face. “God, it’s like pure sugar,” he said.

“Well, it’s not your coffee,” Steve pointed out defensively. “If you want coffee, get some yourself.”

Bucky grimaced and shook his head. “Haven’t slept in a couple days. Probably shouldn’t.”

Steve gave Bucky a sweet smile. “How’d it go?”

Bucky sighed and started walking toward the exit, Steve falling into step beside him. “It was fine. Good, actually. My sister is – she’s not mad. I thought that she… blamed me for what happened and I guess that wasn’t true. And my mom. She’s okay. Wants to talk to me.”

“That’s good, Buck. That’s really great,” Steve said sincerely.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, then let his face fall. “But my dad is still…”

“Hey,” Steve said. He tugged at Bucky’s arm, forcing them to stop in the middle of the terminal. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but whatever happened – it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good person. I don’t care what your dad thinks. He’s wrong.”

Bucky felt the words in his core, knowing that even if he didn’t quite believe them, Steve did wholeheartedly and that was enough.

Bucky pulled Steve close and kissed him. Steve made a noise of surprise, but quickly became pliant in Bucky’s embrace. Bucky pulled away to look at Steve who was blushing furiously and grinning like a fool.

“Be my boyfriend,” Bucky said.

“Is that a question?” Steve remarked.

“Nope.” Bucky smiled.

Steve rolled his eyes. “How romantic.” He pushed playfully at Bucky’s chest. Bucky stumbled back a step and laughed.

“Is that a no?” Bucky asked as they fell into step again, heading toward the exit.

“I dunno. I might need a little convincing,” Steve replied.

“If this face isn’t enough to convince you, I don’t know what will,” Bucky said, pointing at himself.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Steve said wearily. “It’s so hideous. If I don’t take the bullet, who will?”

Bucky burst out laughing. He threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Knew I’d wear you down,” he said as Steve struggled to get free.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve said as he finally pulled himself out of Bucky’s grasp.

“You can’t say that,” Bucky replied. “I’m your _boyfriend_.”

Steve made a face as they stepped through the automatic doors and out into the cold, December air. “You gotta take me on a date first before you start pulling that card,” Steve said.

“I did! Jane’s dinner party…”

“Was not a date,” Steve finished. “Not only were we surrounded by people, but we were also trying not to look suspicious in front of a crazy witch guy who later threatened us.”

Bucky waved his hand in the air. “Details,” he said. “But if it’s a _private_ date you want…” Bucky waggled his eyebrows and was gratified to see a deep blush creep into Steve’s cheeks. Steve quickly ducked his face into his scarf and looked away.

“The parking garage is this way,” Steve muttered and picked up his pace. Bucky followed him with a huff of laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I'm trash and I didn't get to finish the rest of the fic yet. YET. All this means is that the upcoming chapters PROBABLY won't be coming out as quickly as they have been so far. But there's only like 3 or 4 more chapters anyway. I promise I'm working - albeit slowly. I got slammed with actual work at work. Family is visiting for post-Christmas fun times. Etc., etc.. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking around and reading! <3
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com/)!


	23. Chapter 23

Jet lag hit Bucky like a ton of bricks come late Saturday evening and he slept in far longer than he had since earlier that year when Clint had forced him to get drunk just before the fall semester began. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

“He’s alive!”

Bucky grumbled into his pillow as Clint’s voice hit his ears from across his bedroom. He turned over onto his back to glare at Clint, but it was lost on him because the guy was scrolling through his phone and sipping coffee from a mug in his other hand.

“Why’re you in my room?” Bucky mumbled.

“Your phone kept going off,” Clint said in lieu of an answer. He turned and left.

Bucky sighed and groped for his phone on his bedside table. 20 missed calls. Jesus. All of them were from Fury except one from an unfamiliar number. Bucky quickly tapped on Fury’s name and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. He sat up in bed as the phone rang and he tried to finger-comb his hair, as if Fury might be able to see how disheveled he was through the phone.

“Barnes,” Fury answered, voice clipped.

“You called,” Bucky said. “A lot.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen when you leave me a mess and a dead body without even a _note_.”

Bucky let out a long breath. “Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought Natasha was going to tell you–”

“Oh, she did,” Fury cut in. “She explained everything. But I don’t trust _Natasha_. I trust _you_.”

Bucky felt his heart pick up a little at the admission. 

“I’m gonna need you to come in and file a report,” Fury continued. “SHIELD does things by the book. Miss Romanoff does not.”

“Okay, yeah, I can… I can come in,” Bucky said. 

“It can wait ‘til Tuesday,” Fury said, his voice markedly softer. “And Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“I apologize. You were right about Hydra. I should have listened. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, um, yeah. It’s okay,” Bucky said awkwardly. Then, he asked, “It’s over, right? Now that Pierce is… gone?”

Fury sighed, causing the phone to static. “Pierce, I’m afraid, was just the tip of the iceberg. But now that we know there’s an iceberg at all, we can start working. We’ll get ‘em. Don’t worry yourself, kid.”

“Sure, yeah,” Bucky replied.

“Now, I believe someone else has been trying to reach you.”

As if on cue, Bucky’s phone beeped telling him another call was trying to come through. He looked and saw it was the same unfamiliar number that had called earlier.

“I’m getting a call,” Bucky said. “You know who it is?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Fury replied and there was a soft click. 

Bucky sighed and tapped the new number on his phone to answer. “Hello?”

“James, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Peggy?” Bucky asked.

“Of course, dear. I hear you met Buchanan and saved the world.”

“I… yeah? Wait. Where are you?”

“Home,” Peggy replied easily. “I’ve already spoken with Steve, if that’s what you’re wondering. Now this whole thing’s blown over, I felt it was time to return. I’m afraid vacation no longer agrees with me quite like it used to.”

“Yeah. Um, thanks, by the way, for the shield,” Bucky said.

“Not at all,” Peggy said. “Now, I’m calling about Buchanan. I’ve had a long chat with Nick and we both agree – and that’s not something I say lightly – that it’s high time Buchanan be on his way. Hydra isn’t gone and probably won’t be, but it’s not fair to keep him trapped here.”

Bucky glanced over at the stationary sword propped up against his bookcase. “He’s not exactly trapped, is he?” Bucky asked. “I mean, he wants to help.”

“Of course he does. But I’m afraid he’s doing it not out of a sense of purpose, but rather a sense of obligation. Or, very likely, guilt.”

Bucky frowned. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.”

“Talk to him first,” Peggy said, her voice soft and earnest. “It should be his decision. But he’ll need some coaxing. And I think you’re the best man for the job.”

  


* * *

  


Truth was, Bucky dreaded the idea of Buchanan leaving. He was a pain the ass, but he gave Bucky back a part of himself that he missed more than anything from his old life. He allowed him to feel capable again, like he might actually have a chance at being normal.

Bucky clutched the sword with his right hand and sighed. Steve looked over at him and smiled. Bucky smiled back, albeit a little sadly.

Steve was driving them to Natasha’s. Bucky had called Steve immediately after hanging up with Peggy and asked if he wanted to go with him. Steve of course said yes. Bucky had texted Steve the details regarding Buchanan’s possible release because Bucky was afraid if Buchanan heard about it before they could tell him face-to-face, he might go haywire and impale something – or someone. 

As it was, the car ride was silent.

Everything had already been prepared for a séance when Steve, Bucky, and the sword finally arrived at Natasha’s. Clint had been called away on an emergency will-o'-the-wisp situation, whatever that meant. A few minutes after showing up, Natasha was lighting the spell candle. Buchanan’s visage snaked into being, tendrils of the candle’s smoke revealing in slow detail a pair of dark pants, then a tactical vest of some kind with an array of pockets and carriers, then finally Buchanan’s head. 

If he had looked different before, it was nothing compared to his appearance now. Buchanan’s cropped hair had grown long and now reached his shoulders in a tangled mess. His eyes were dark and hooded and he looked sallow. He was too thin beneath the combat gear and there was a certain look to his posture that made him seem feral, like a dog backed into a corner poised to bite.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, the first to say anything as Natasha and Bucky stared in silent shock.

“What happened to _you_?” Bucky asked, taking a step closer despite his better judgment telling him to back off. 

Buchanan had never looked so like Bucky – long hair and decidedly lankier – and yet so different, too.

“Buchanan?” Natasha said.

The name made Buchanan shift slightly, puffs of smoke whirling up from his feet. His eyes drifted from one side to the other in a slow arc before finally settling on Steve. Buchanan seemed to shake himself, his head dipping slightly and his hair obscuring his face. He straightened up and flexed his fingers before finally lifting his chin. This time, he looked at Bucky.

“Yeah?” Buchanan said. It came off as a sad attempt at cockiness, largely undercut by the raspiness of a disused voice.

“What the hell happened?” Bucky asked. “You look…”

Buchanan grunted and looked down at himself. “This is what they made me wear while they…” He trailed off. “What do you need?”

Bucky hesitated. Fortunately, Steve spoke up before Bucky could flounder too badly.

“We spoke with Peggy,” Steve said. “And Nick Fury, the new head of SHIELD. And we… want to offer you a deal.”

A little bit of the weariness that Buchanan had barely been keeping at bay seeped into his posture. He seemed to melt into the smoke keeping him visible. “A deal,” he repeated hoarsely. “What deal?”

“Not a deal, sorry,” Steve said, putting a placating hand out and taking a step forward. “You don’t need to do anything. It’s just… Peggy thinks– Well, we all think,” Steve looked over at Natasha who nodded in encouragement, “that maybe it’s time.”

“Time,” Buchanan repeated, his eyes tiredly watching Steve. 

“Time to move on,” Steve said.

There was instant change to Buchanan. He flickered, like a candle that was almost blown out, but came bursting back to life. When he stabilized again, he was still wearing the strange combat gear, but his eyes were fiercely determined. He wasn’t tired anymore, he was _angry_. 

“Hydra’s not gone!” Buchanan exclaimed. “Hydra isn’t over! I won’t rest until every last one of them is in the ground in _pieces_!”

“We know!” Steve said desperately. “We know Hydra’s not gone, but being attached to that sword… I think it’s killing you.” 

The look Buchanan gave Steve could’ve curdled milk, but Steve powered on: “You know what I mean!” Steve growled in frustration.

Natasha stepped forward then and said, “You’ve done enough, Buchanan.”

Buchanan visibly bristled. “Enough? It will _never_ be enough. Not after what they did, what they made me do to–” Buchanan choked back a sob. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. Steve looked over at Bucky who shook his head. “I mean, Steve Grant,” Bucky clarified. “They made you kill him, didn’t they? They made you kill your Steve.” 

Buchanan didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. He crumbled into himself until just the barest hint of a countenance of a man could be seen among the smoke.

“Oh God,” Steve said softly. “Buchanan, I’m so sorry. That must have been… But, I mean– it wasn’t– ”

“My fault?” Buchanan finished savagely. “So I’ve heard. From Peggy, from Morita, from Dum-Dum and Gabe and Monty and Dernier and _fucking Howard_. They never fucking _stopped_ telling me, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead and if I hadn’t been weak and selfish and pathetic, he’d still be alive. He’d still be –”

Buchanan snapped out of view and at the same time, Natasha gasped and fell forward onto one knee. Steve rushed to Natasha’s side while Bucky froze in panic.

“Nat, what’s–?” Steve started.

“Get– another– candle–,” Natasha choked out. She nearly fell to the side, but Steve steadied her while Bucky finally shifted into high gear and searched frantically for a candle. Finally he spotted one on its side being used as a paperweight on the bookshelf. He rushed over to Natasha with it.

She took the candle and tapped Steve’s knee until he let go of her arm. She stood shakily and mumbled to herself while she quickly mustered her strength and set about making another séance circle. The new one was different than the one used for Buchanan with different symbols or runes or whatever they were around the sides. The new circle just barely overlapped Buchanan’s own circle, which was still filled with smoke, but missing the figure in question.

Natasha hastily threw down various powders and liquids, still muttering under her breath, before finally lighting the second candle which she had placed in the center of the new circle. The smoke from the new candle billowed up and out and filled the circle in a matter of seconds. It took a long minute before the thick smoke cleared in the new circle to reveal a tall, fit man with a shock of light hair brushed and parted neatly. He wore combat gear, not unlike Buchanan’s, except with more of a fitted design to it. When he turned to stare at his audience, Bucky actually gasped. It was _Steve_. At least the man _looked_ remarkably like Steve with the same nose and eyes and lips and even ears, the same straw-blond hair and untempered jut to his jaw. But everything else – namely, his physique – was in stark contrast to the Steve Bucky knew well. The man had to be over six feet tall and he was built like a tank, although his hips were slim, giving him a strange tapered-off look. 

“Buck, can you hear me? It’s Steve. _Your_ Steve,” the figure said. He was directing his attention toward the thinning smoke in the adjacent circle which was swirling lazily close to the ground. The smoke stilled as Steven Grant’s voice carried over. Then it blew upwards in a haze.

“Steve?” Buchanan’s voice was barely a whisper.

Steven’s face broke into a grin. “Yeah, pal, it’s me.”

The figure of Buchanan finally reappeared, but he was pushed against the far edge of his own circle, as far away from Steven as he could get.

Steve – the living, breathing Steve – in the meantime had inched closer to Bucky to grab his hand tightly. Bucky looked over in surprise, but Steve’s eyes were wide and determined as he watched the scene unfold before them. 

Natasha sat down with a huff, all the energy knocked out of her. “Jesus. I haven’t felt that much energy in my life,” Natasha said. “And I’ve been on the Queen Mary.”

Steven Grant glanced over at Natasha. “I apologize. It was the only way. I’ve been trying to get back for… Well, it’s been a long time. I saw an opportunity and I wasn’t going to let it slip by again. Are you hurt?”

Natasha waved her hand in the air. “Fine,” she said. “You’re Steven Grant?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Natasha smirked. “Your boy is giving us some problems. Hopefully you’re here to convince him?”

Steven nodded and turned back to Buchanan. “Bucky,” he said again.

Every second, Buchanan became more and more visible until finally his face was shown, still mostly covered by long, tangled hair.

“Buck, look at me.” Steven took a step toward Buchanan until he hit the very edge of his circle. Then, very carefully, he took another step into Buchanan’s.

“Don’t!” Buchanan shouted as Steven came closer. Steven froze.

“It’s all right,” Steven said. “Bucky, it’s time. It’s time to move on.”

Buchanan sank to the floor, sending up a puff of smoke. “I can’t,” he said and then he started crying. Great, heaving sobs ripped through his body.

Steven took another step closer and crouched down. “Sure ya can, pal,” he said. “These nice people are gonna help, aren’t they?”

Steven looked back imploringly and Steve replied, “Yes, of course.”

“See, Buck? We’re all here for you.” Steven dropped a hand on Buchanan’s knee and Buchanan froze. “Come home, Buck.”

“Oh God, Stevie. Oh God, I k-killed you, I k-killed you and I d-d-didn’t even s-say–” Buchanan choked out, but then Steven pulled Buchanan forward and into his arms so they were holding each other in a cloud of dark smoke.

“I don’t blame you, I don’t blame you,” Steven whispered over and over into Buchanan’s hair.

“I’m s-so sorry,” Buchanan whimpered.

Steven shushed him until Buchanan’s sobbing stopped. “Buck, you gotta know,” Steven said, pushing Buchanan back to look at his face, “that I would never blame you. No one would. No one _did_. You were so strong.”

Buchanan shook his head, but Steven grabbed his chin. “No, it’s true,” he insisted. “Buck, you were so strong and I– I loved you. Still do.”

“Steve,” Buchanan breathed. Then, he lurched forward and kissed Steven hard on the mouth. Steven was quick to reciprocate, although the kiss didn’t last long, and Steven pulled back after a short few seconds.

“It’s time to go, Buck. For me and you, I think.”

“What about you?” Buchanan asked hurriedly as they both got to their feet.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Steven said. “Have been for a long time. Waitin’ for you to get your damn act together.” Steven smiled and ruffled Buchanan’s hair. 

Buchanan let slip a small smile. “I’ll… I’ll see you on the other side?”

“You know you will,” Steven replied. He took a few steps back into his own circle and turned to Natasha. 

Natasha nodded and snuffed out Steven’s candle. The smoke cleared and Steven was gone. Steve went over to help Natasha to her feet. 

“This next part’s gonna be tricky,” Natasha said. “I haven’t done an exorcism in years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the math and I've read 2,609,652 words of fanfiction in this year alone. TWO MILLION. (Plus 4 million words of actual, published literature, so there's that.) It started as a joke and now I'm like... do I have a problem????
> 
> Answer: no.
> 
> More relevant note: this chapter is actually on time! The next chapter definitely won't be with New Year's and the weekend and all that, but I promise it'll get done!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com). Or, I guess I should say, I'm on Tumblr only when I'm not on AO3 reading my life away, apparently.


	24. Chapter 24

“Does it hurt?” Buchanan asked warily. His eyes tracked Natasha around the room as she gathered supplies.

She froze at the question and looked at him. “Sometimes,” she said. “I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s fine,” Buchanan cut in, waving a hand. Smoke billowed lazily around as he did so.

Then, Natasha turned her attention to Steve and Bucky who had situated themselves on the couch, legs touching and full of nervous energy. They’d offered to help, but Natasha had shushed them and waved them away.

“You two don’t have to be here for this,” she said softly, placing a big jar of some sort of black powder on the floor with the rest of the ingredients. “It’s not a, um,” she glanced briefly at Buchanan who was frowning, “pleasant experience.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Bucky said and whether that was to assure Natasha or Buchanan was anyone’s guess. Half an hour ago, he was deadset against having Buchanan exorcised at all and now…

Well, he’d seen how devastated Buchanan had been for having, willing or not, killed Steven and Bucky knew now that Buchanan was only staying attached to that sword as some sort of recompense for his guilt. Even if it meant giving up his arm all over again, Bucky couldn’t let Buchanan suffer.

“Kinda weird, huh?” Steve said as Natasha continued to bustle around. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Wait, which part?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “The part where our past selves were, um, together.”

“‘Weird’ is not the word I’d use to describe that,” Bucky said.

“If you got somethin’ to say, why don’t you come over here and say it, huh?” Buchanan barked from across the room.

Bucky looked up in surprise. “Ah, man, that’s not what I meant.”

“Sure sounded like you meant–”

“Would you shut up and listen for once in your life!” Bucky snapped.

“Not if it means listening to your dumb ass!” Buchanan retorted angrily.

Next to Bucky, Steve was trying his hardest to stifle his snickering behind his hand. 

“If you got somethin’ to say about me and Steve, you come out and say it!” Buchanan said, a familiar uptick to his speech.

“Christ,” Bucky muttered before grabbing a chuckling Steve by the chin and kissing him on the mouth. Bucky pulled back from a dazed Steve and said, “ _That’s_ why it’s weird!” He leveled Buchanan with a glare. “Because _we’re_ together, too!”

Buchanan narrowed his eyes as if trying to decide if this was some elaborate prank. “Oh,” he said. He turned his attention back to Natasha who had finished gathering supplies and had been watching the exchange with unbridled glee.

“ _Oh_ ,” Bucky repeated with a scoff. “What a dick.”

Steve smiled affectionately, slipping his arm through Bucky’s.

Natasha rearranged some ingredients and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said. “Buchanan?”

“Yeah, been ready,” he said. “What do I need to do?”

“Not a thing,” Natasha replied. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

Buchanan smiled waspishly.

“I’m going to break the séance and then I’ll get started. We won’t be able to talk to each other when this is happening, so if you want to change your mind or if you have anything to say, now would be the time to do that.”

Buchanan looked uncharacteristically shy as he said, “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess, just, thanks.”

Natasha smiled softly. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Let’s get started.”

Natasha snuffed out the candle and Buchanan disappeared in a haze of smoke until the air was clear once more. Then, Natasha took a towel and wiped away both séance circles and the various symbols surrounding them before grabbing the sword and pulling it toward her. She then started pulling jars of ingredients toward where she was seated cross-legged on the floor and touching the sword in various places. All the time, she was speaking in Latin, or what Bucky could only assume was Latin.

Five minutes later, Natasha stood and said a long incantation with her hand raised above the sword. Nothing happened. Bucky opened his mouth to ask if she was sure she’d done it right when someone else cut him off. 

The voice was unfamiliar, though decidedly male. Deep, guttural words were being whispered from, it felt, the whole room, not originating from any one place. Bucky recognized it as German, but knew no more than that. The voice paused and a different, somewhat lighter voice replied. Then, in English, the second voice said, “Sergeant Barnes. The procedure has already started. You are to be the new fist of Hydra.”

Suddenly, a deep, rasping scream echoed through the room, causing both Steve and Bucky to jump and grip each other tightly. 

“Is that…?” Steve started, and Bucky nodded in reply. _Buchanan_.

“Nat?” Bucky said warily as the screaming died down, replaced once again with soft German.

Natasha shook her head sharply. “His last moments,” she said. “I can’t do anything about it.”

_“Don’t, please don’t. Please don’t make me do this.”_

They were the first words Buchanan had spoken and his voice was too high and hitched at every word. 

_“Herr Barnes, make you do what?”_ the soft voice replied sweetly. _“All you need to do is die.”_

More screaming followed, lasting far longer than Bucky could account for. With nothing to look at, Bucky had taken to closing his eyes and inadvertently picturing Buchanan being tortured in innumerable ways. 

Buchanan let out a string of soft pleas, one final appeal for reprieve before all sound stopped. It was if the room itself had gone mute. Bucky opened his eyes, but there was still nothing in sight. Steve had not relented his grip on Bucky’s arm and Natasha stood over the sword silently with her head bowed.

Ineffably, a soft, warm wind picked up in the room, ruffling Bucky’s hair and tossing a few wayward papers from the bookshelf onto the floor. 

From somewhere far away, a voice whispered, “Steve?” The wind picked up, summer-hot and strong before dropping, full-stop, as if nothing at all had happened. At once, Bucky felt an immense weight lift from the room, as if he had been slowly stifled and had only just realized it.

“It’s done,” Natasha said. She bent over, plucked up the sword and walked over to Bucky. She handed it to him and he took it. “I’m assuming Peggy would want you to keep it,” she said.

Bucky felt the familiar weight of it, but there was a certain energy it lacked now. The absence was nearly a physical thing and Bucky half expected there to be a marked difference in the look of the sword, too. 

“I hope he’s okay,” Steve said, looking down at the sword.

“He’s with his Steve, I think,” Natasha said. “He’s just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are just getting shorter and shorter. For that, I'm sorry. However, this time I have a good excuse: next chapter is a flashback! We finally get to really see what Bucky's relationship was like with his family, post-accident. 
> 
> I'm posting this without editing because I'm HUNGRY and I'm going to get lunch. When I get back, I'll read through it.
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments. They keep me happy and, most importantly, writing. <3
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky had exactly 500 dollars his account, a hundred dollars or so in cash. Somehow that was going to have to last him the three weeks between now and the start of classes when the apartment his parents put a down payment on was available. If his parents didn’t rescind the offer. It was technically nonrefundable, but given the circumstances…

Bucky stepped off the bus and shouldered his dufflebag. First order of business was finding a place to sleep for the night. The bus had gone as far as Midtown Manhattan, which was far beyond his means even with the support of his parents. Without it, it was out of the question. It was 3:30 a.m.. He walked west, head ducked and trying to avoid knocking anyone over with his oversized bag.

His phone was nearly dead, but lasted long enough to tell him he’d have to catch a taxi eventually. He decided to walk as far as he could to save money. It was the beginning of August and even in the early hours of the morning, the streets were stifling and hot. Half an hour later, he was close to collapsing of heat exhaustion, so he finally hailed a cab. 

“Where you headed?” the driver asked.

“Brooklyn.”

The driver clicked his tongue. “Yeah, big neighborhood, kid. Where in Brooklyn?”

“Boerum Hill.”

“You got an address?”

“Um. The university. Please.”

“Sure.”

That would at least leave him close to where he needed to be. He was listing the price of local motels from lowest to highest when his phone finally called it quits. He cursed and stared out the window until the cab driver pulled onto an empty boulevard. The green road sign read “University Place”. Bucky handed over 30 dollars reluctantly and stepped out of the cab with his bag. As the driver pulled away, Bucky finally let himself feel the full weight of what he’d done. 

The bus ride had been 13 hours, plus 5 hours of stopping and going, changing busses, trying to remember what line he was supposed to be on. Once he was in New York, it was prioritizing his needs: sleep, food, money. Now… Now, he stared at the dark campus laid out before him with ragged anxiety. It attacked his insides, forcing him to double over and drop his bag onto the sidewalk.

He was alone. He didn’t have enough money to survive. He didn’t have a home or a job or a car or anyone he knew there. He didn’t have an arm.

He was able to stop himself from going down that hole, although just barely. He allowed himself ten minutes of panic before he pulled himself back together. His physical therapist had been annoyingly persistent about the phrase, but it came to him now: small steps toward a larger goal. So, his first, small step was to charge his phone. He turned in a circle and spotted a familiar green and white sign not a block away.

The Starbucks was almost empty. Up until that point, Bucky hadn’t even realized 24-hour Starbucks were a thing. Apparently, at 4 in the morning, they catered to two very tired millennials and one harried-looking man in a business suit who was typing away rapidly on a laptop by the far wall. Bucky was glad that he at least fit in with the former category and might not get too many strange looks. A sign at the front had indicated that people who wished to loiter in the building must be paying customers. He bought a scone and a small, black coffee which came out to a price that was definitely not going to fit in any future budget of his. 

Once seated in a corner booth, his bag on the other side, he was able to extricate his phone charger from the depths of his hurried packing and start up his phone.

There were three missed calls he already knew about, all from Pietro. He quickly typed out a text to him, telling him he’d made it to New York and would call him in the morning. Pietro had apparently been waiting up because his reply of backslash emojis came almost as soon as Bucky sent the text.

Not a single word from his parents.

Bucky tried to see that as a good thing, but couldn’t help the disappointment bubbling up inside him. He had, foolishly and naively, held very loosely the belief that perhaps his parents might care if he left without saying good-bye. He supposed it was clear where he’d gone with all of his things missing, but the fact remained that they wouldn’t know for sure. Perhaps, he thought cynically, they hadn’t even noticed he was gone. 

Bucky took a bite of his scone. It felt like ash in his mouth, tasteless and dry. He tamped down the rising nausea and took another bite.

He went back to searching for motels. Most wouldn’t allow reservations to be made on such short notice and so late at night. Finally, one just ten blocks away had a room available. He called and talked to a very bored-sounding man briefly and secured himself a room. It wouldn’t be ready for another hour, so he started on his next goal: get a job. A huge, cramped city offered an abundance of work, but he was young and inexperienced and the cost of living was astronomical. He couldn’t subsist on minimum wage if he wanted to also pay for food and rent and school books and supplies. 

He realized he’d been staring at a posting for a job in a department store on his phone for ten straight minutes when the man in a business suit who had been rapidly typing on his laptop 15 minutes ago drummed his fingers on the table in front of Bucky. Bucky startled and his phone dropped with a loud bang.

“Sorry,” the man said. Bucky looked up at him. He looked anything but sorry. Distracted, bored, extremely exhausted, but not sorry. His dark eyes darted around the shop once before coming back to Bucky. Then, he spotted Bucky’s prosthesis. Some expression flickered briefly across his face before it was replaced once again with tired nonchalance. “You lookin’ for a job?” the guy asked.

Bucky let out a breath. “Look, I’m not a drug dealer or–”

The man gave Bucky a confused look and cut him off with a hurried hand wave. “What the hell–? No, kid. I’m– Look, I was tracking the Internet. Saw you were looking for work.”

“You were _what_?”

“Technically not illegal. It is my wifi. Well, it’s my wifi… adjacent. I _pay_ for it. Sort of. Most of the time. I think it still counts? Still pretty sure it’s not illegal and anyway, you’re looking for a job, right?”

Bucky couldn’t convince himself to close his mouth. This guy had to be five kinds of crazy, and yet the temptation to say yes was really strong. He needed a job. But whatever this guy wanted him to do couldn’t be kosher.

“Sorry, I’m not, um,” Bucky started, but was once more cut off.

“I mean, we pay above minimum wage just starting out. If you’re good, you could be a shift manager. That’s, like, 11 dollars an hour or something. I don’t know, I just sign the checks, I don’t actually look at them.”

“Where… do you work?” Bucky asked.

The man raised his eyebrows. “Here,” he said.

“Here,” Bucky repeated. “You work at Starbucks.”

“I’m the regional manager of every Starbucks in Boerum Hill,” the man clarified. “Which is a side job.” He wrinkled his nose as if the idea of a steady paycheck was putrid. “My fiancé thought it would get me out of my own head. And house. And she’s the smart one, so…”

Bucky nodded as if he had a clue what this guy was going on about. 

“Right, so, when can you start?”

“I don’t…”

“Look, I’m kinda desperate here.” The man slumped a little and then fell gracelessly into the seat across from Bucky, handily pushing the duffelbag to the side in the process. “We just had, like, three people quit because he was pregnant and she got a new job and someone’s dog’s grandmother died.”

“You’re offering me a position here?” Bucky asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. You’ve got that poor college student look about you. Just the type I’m looking for.” He motioned toward the front counter where a girl about Bucky’s age with auburn hair and a grim expression was lounging with one elbow on the counter, the other hand scrolling through her phone mindlessly.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Bucky said.

The man lit up, a grin spreading across his face. “Really? That’s great. Okay, come in tomorrow and – where are you staying?”

“Around.”

The man hesitated, then powered on: “Can you be here tomorrow? Two o’clock?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said and finally allowed himself to smile a little. 

“Yes!” the man said and slammed his palms down on the table making Bucky jump.

“Sorry, sorry,” the man said hurriedly. “I’m Tony, by the way.”

“Bucky.”

“Yikes. You actually go by that? Never mind. Not my business. Plus I don’t care. Just be here tomorrow.” With that, Tony got up and retreated to his corner and his laptop.

  


* * *

  


Bucky finally understood what people meant when they said _seedy motel_. If Bucky thought the outside was bad, the inside was a nightmare. In the lobby, there were water stains on the ceiling tiles, a carpet that had probably been some sort of red color was now brown and packed down with dirt. There was a single ficus that was doing uncharacteristically well. As Bucky approached the front desk, it became clear why: it was fake. And dusty and strung with cobwebs.

He was given a key (a real key, not a keycard. He wasn’t aware hotels used real keys anymore) and made his way to the second floor where he let himself into the most rundown looking room he’d ever seen. It was nearly 5 a.m. by that time and he was too exhausted to care, so he flopped down on the bed with his clothes still on and fell asleep immediately.

He woke up at noon to his phone ringing. He wanted to ignore it, but then remembered he had never called Pietro and the guy was probably worried sick, as he was wont to do. Bucky fumbled with the phone before finally answering with a muffled, “Hello?”

“James.”

Bucky sat up abruptly and felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Ma?”

“James, thank God,” his mother said. Her voice was hushed like she was trying to whisper.

“I… why are you calling?” Bucky wanted to be strong, wanted to tell her to fuck off for treating him like shit all this time, but he couldn’t help but simper a little at his mom’s voice.

“I’m your _mother_ ,” she said. “James, we were worried sick about you! Why did you leave without even…”

“You know why, Mom.”

“I don’t!”

“Dad didn’t want–”

“Shh, shh,” his mother hushed. There was silence for a long moment and then a muffled voice on her end followed by her reply, “I’ll be right out, sweetheart. Just talking with Aunt Jackie.”

Bucky felt the sting of the lie in his chest. “Aunt Jackie, huh?” Bucky said bitterly.

“James…”

“What, Dad doesn’t want you talking to me? Is that it? He still fucking blames me for something that _wasn’t my fault_ , Mom. You _know_ it wasn’t my fault.”

“James, please–”

“No! I’m done taking his shit! I left because I knew he wouldn’t… You didn’t even come to the hospital when I was… You weren’t _there_ , Mom.” Bucky furiously wiped away the tears spilling from his eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But your father didn’t want me to… I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t. He’s angry and confused. You have to understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” Bucky replied stonily. “He blames me and you’re too chicken shit to stand up for your own son. I get it. Really, I do. If that’s what this is going to be, then I’m out.”

“You don’t mean that, honey. You don’t–”

“Don’t call again, Mom, until you’re willing to talk to me like you’re not ashamed of me.” Bucky hung up the phone. He stared at the screen for too long before finally getting up and dressed. He’d taken one look at the shower and decided it’d be cleaner just to layer on deodorant. By one o’clock, he was dressed in khakis and the only button-up shirt he owned. He decided to head over to Starbucks early and order a coffee. 

The place was much more crowded when he arrived and there were three people working the front he hadn’t seen before. A knot tightened in his stomach at the idea of him having to meet people and talk to them. Four months ago, that wouldn’t have been a problem. He was sociable and pleasant, had a ton of friends in high school. But he’d never had to introduce himself to someone without an arm. Would they ask about it? Would they ignore it completely? And which of those two options was worse? Bucky scrubbed his face with his hand and tried to think about something else.

Unfortunately, the only thing left to think about was his mom. His dad clearly wasn’t letting up with the blame. Bucky hadn’t sat through months of therapy just to have his fucking dad try and convince him he was the guilty one. He still struggled with it and he’d never forgive himself for hurting Rebecca, but his father couldn’t blame him. He had no right. Only Bucky could do that.

“You’re early.”

Bucky glanced up into the largely unchanged face of Tony. He seemed to be wearing the same suit as before, too, and Bucky wondered if he’d even left the shop at all.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied when Tony did nothing but stand there and stare.

“Here’s your uniform.” Bucky then noticed Tony had been carrying two green aprons, which he promptly threw on the table in front of Bucky. “I had them stitch your name on. You sure you wanna go by that? It’s not too late to change it.”

Bucky picked up the apron on top to find “Bucky” embroidered in gold thread. “It’s my name,” Bucky said simply. More importantly, it was a name his parents hated. He was only 18; he could be petulant if he wanted to be. Bucky looked up at Tony. “You’re hiring me? For real?”

“For real,” Tony repeated, deadpan. He had at some point procured a fancy-looking phone out of somewhere and was scrolling through it absently.

“You didn’t even interview me. You know nothing about me,” Bucky pointed out. He folded the apron up again and noticed with a twinge of embarrassment that the ties on the back of the apron had been replaced with Velco straps.

“I know everything I need to know,” Tony replied simply.

And that’s when everything clicked. Bucky slid the aprons away from him. “I don’t want it. I don’t want the job.”

That got Tony’s attention. The man looked up in surprise. “What?” he said.

“I don’t want the job. Sorry for wasting your time.” Bucky stood abruptly.

“Whoa, whoa, wait! What just happened?”

Bucky glared at Tony. “I don’t want your pity, okay? I’m not going to be your good deed or your fucking tax break, got it? I can get a job without using this as the reason.” Bucky motioned to his left arm.

“Shit, kid, you got a lot of issues, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Fuck off,” Bucky said started to walk away.

“Wait, wait,” Tony said imploringly, grabbing the aprons and falling into step with Bucky.

“What?” Bucky snapped, turning to him.

“You think I hired you because you’re missing an arm? For fuck’s sake, get over yourself.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open in shock. “What–?”

“If you want this job, you start tomorrow. Morning shift starts at 6. If you’re not good enough, I’ll fire you personally, all right? I don’t do pity, kid, believe me.”

“He’s telling the truth,” a man chimed in from behind Bucky. Bucky turned to find an older man, a customer presumably, with curly, salt-and-pepper hair who had stopped typing on his oversized laptop to interject. “Tony’s an asshole.”

Tony gestured grandly to the man. “See? Bruce knows I’m an asshole. I kick him out all the fucking time and he’s got like – what do you have, Bruce?”

“PTSD.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“He’s known me for 15 years,” Bruce said to Bucky. “And he still doesn’t know that. That’s how little he cares about disabilities.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of the whole exchange, but he was desperate and Tony did still want to hire him even after he’d told him to fuck off. Bucky took the aprons from Tony who grinned widely.

“I’ll be here at 6,” Bucky mumbled before beating a hasty retreat out of the shop.

  


* * *

  


Bucky unlocked the motel door, pushing hard when the door got stuck in the jamb. He stumbled into the room. It was humid and sweltering hot. Bucky dropped the keys on his newly-made bed and went over to the window unit that was worryingly quiet. After fiddling with the thing for five minutes, he gave it up. He was unbuttoning the front of his shirt when he realized his duffel bag had been moved. No doubt when the cleaning person had come in, they had moved the massive thing to clean under it. Bucky went around to the other side of the bed and let out a sigh of relief when he saw it there. The last thing he needed was to have his entire wardrobe stolen.

The motel had asked him to be out by five that evening if he didn’t expect to pay for another night, so he had a few hours before he had to decide where to go. Even though the motel was disgusting, it wasn’t exactly cheap and he couldn’t afford to stay for longer than the week. He wasn’t sure how long after signing the new hire paperwork it would take for him to get paid, so he couldn’t just assume he’d have the money. Bucky ran his hand through his short, dark hair and sat on the bed. He leaned over and started digging around the duffel for his laptop. The least he could do was buy the textbooks he’d need for the start of class. He didn’t want to order them from the school bookstore, but without an address, he was at a loss for how to order from someplace like Amazon. If he sent them to his future apartment address, would they hold the packages there for him?

Frustrated that he hadn’t found his laptop and annoyed that he’d packed in such a hurry, Bucky upturned the duffel bag onto the motel floor. Probably not the most sanitary idea, but that was the least of his worries when he realized his laptop was missing. Not just his laptop, but the charger and his handheld digital camera and the old school iPod that had 20,000 songs on it.

In a panic, he slid to the floor and frantically searched the recesses of the empty duffel, then rooted through the pile of clothes on the floor. It was gone. He glanced up and realized his phone charger that had been plugged in by the bed was missing, too.

With a deep breath, he got up and as calmly as he could, he headed downstairs to the front desk. The man behind the counter who had rented the room to Bucky was sitting in a deteriorating swivel chair, reading a car magazine. He was a white guy, old and balding and overweight. 

Bucky cleared his throat when the guy didn’t look up. His slow eyes finally left the magazine to take in Bucky. “Yeah?” he said, his voice as gruff and disinterested as Bucky remembered. 

“My, um, stuff was taken. I had a laptop and a camera and chargers in my duffel bag. It’s all gone.”

The man chewed on something, his massive jaw working a lot harder than his brain. “Lost it?”

“No, it was taken,” Bucky insisted. He grasped his prosthesis with his right hand to keep from shaking.

“What you want me to do about it?” The guy leaned forward a little bit.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Well, I want to find out who was responsible and get my shit back!”

The man sniffed loudly and tossed his magazine carelessly on the desk. He bent over and rifled through something behind the desk and came back up holding a piece of paper and a pen. “Fill out your name and contact info and what you lost and we’ll contact you if we find it.”

Bucky stared at the form and then the man in disbelief. “I didn’t _lose_ anything,” Bucky said, clenching his prosthesis as hard as he could. My stuff was _stolen_. Who was cleaning the rooms today?”

“Not allowed to give out employee information,” the man replied in a bored voice. He grabbed his magazine again and leaned back in his chair. 

“Hey! Hey!” Bucky shouted. He leaned across the desk. “Listen, asshole, that was my laptop for school! What am I supposed to do without a laptop?”

The man shrugged one enormous shoulder. “Public library?”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, then let out a shaky breath. “Listen, please, okay? I’m… I don’t have much. That’s all I have up there in that room. Please. I just… want my stuff back.”

The man looked at Bucky, his jaw flexing. “Sorry, kid. Like I said, we’ll let you know if we find anything.” He motioned to the form before returning his attention back to the magazine.

With a shaking hand, Bucky filled out the form, forcefully pushing it toward the man who grunted in response. With a desperate, sinking feeling, Bucky made his way back into his motel room. He couldn’t stay there again, he knew that. The last thing he needed was for his phone to be stolen, then he’d be really lost. At the thought, he took his phone out and checked the battery. He needed a phone charger. The battery was at 20 percent.

  


* * *

  


Bucky knew Starbucks wasn’t the best place to hang out because it forced him to buy expensive coffee, but it had been his first refuge and he couldn’t help but feel a little safer there. Besides, it was now his place of employment. He took a bite of his scone and came to the realization that he hadn’t eaten properly in nearly two days.

He’d been able to buy a cheap charger at a local drugstore, at least. It was nearing 7 p.m. when his phone rang again. He looked at the caller ID and groaned.

“Hello?” he answered.

“James, now, listen to me,” his mother said in a sharp voice. She sounded on edge. “I… I’m sorry for what happened between you and your father–”

“He threw hot coffee at me, Mom. He called me a sick, selfish fuck and threw _hot coffee_ at me.”

He could hear his mother breathing heavily on the other line. “Well, he was very upset,” she said evenly.

“Christ, Ma, you don’t get it, do you? He hates me! He’ll never forgive me for what happened.”

“He just needs time,” his mother insisted.

“He had three months to visit me in the hospital,” Bucky said. “He had _plenty_ of time. He just couldn’t deal with the fact that his fuck-up of a son had hurt his precious baby girl.”

“He doesn’t think you’re–”

“Yes, he does!” Bucky cut in harshly. He looked down at the table and tried to force himself not to cry, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. “He never said anything, but after he found out I was… After I told him I was gay, he _never_ looked at me the same. This was just the proof that I really was a mistake.”

“James, please.”

“I love you, Mom, but I can’t… sit here and pretend like everything’s okay because it’s _not_. If you ever figure that out, then you call me. Until then, just leave me alone.”

Bucky hung up. He gripped his phone so hard in his right hand he shook. He couldn’t understand why his phone was wet until he realized he was crying and once he noticed, he couldn’t stop. He let out a long, shaky breath because he was still in a Starbucks, for fuck’s sake. He needed to pull it together. 

He wiped away his tears and went to the online phone store. He’d been paying his own phone bill for a year now. It had started as a way for his parents to teach him responsibility. He typed in all of his information and his thumbed lingered over the “OK” button on the screen. With a deep breath, he pressed the button.

_Your cellphone number has been changed._

Bucky quickly texted Pietro from his new number. 

BUCKY: It’s Bucky. New number. Don’t tell my parents.  
PIETRO: Jeez, buddy. U ok?  
BUCKY: Please don’t tell them.  
PIETRO: Yeah, I won’t. Tell me ur ok??  
BUCKY: I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.  
PIETRO: That’s what you said yesterday.

Bucky didn’t write back. He couldn’t deal with another guilt trip when he had so much else to worry about. Firstly, finding himself a place to sleep for the night. He’d checked his bank account earlier and he was already down to a measly 350 dollars. He couldn’t stay at even the cheapest motel for three more weeks let alone a few more days with that. With the job, maybe he could get by, but he wasn’t willing to risk what money he had on it.

He had to come up with something else.

  


* * *

  


It _was_ summer, Bucky reasoned. He wouldn’t die of exposure. But the prospect of being arrested was daunting. A cursory look online told him there had been a raid of sorts in early January of that very year. If he got caught up in that, it might be the end of everything. He barely had enough money for food as it was. Certainly not enough to post bail if that’s what it came down to.

It was late, nearing two in the morning when Bucky finally, finally made it into Prospect Park. It didn’t take long to find an empty bench. He supposed it was a bit foolhardy to sleep in a spot so out in the open, but he didn’t _look_ exceptionally homeless, so his pre-conceived lie of waiting for his sister might work if a cop came asking questions.

Using his duffelbag as a pillow, Bucky tried to sleep. His phone – fully charged and set to wake him up in just three hours – rested next to his head. He stared up at the darkened sky, so unlike the sky back in Indiana where you could see the stars even near Indianapolis, as long as you were outside the city limits. It constantly felt like twilight in New York, never quite dark enough to sleep.

Bucky’s alarm woke him from a restless, half-sleep state. He input the address of the 24-hour gym that boasted the first three months free if you put a credit card on file. 

Bucky plastered on his best fake smile, which seemed to work as the young guy manning the front desk didn’t ask any weird questions before handing over the key card that would allow Bucky access to the gym for the next three months. He thanked the guy and went into the locker room. At five in the morning, it was fairly empty. One middle-aged guy passed Bucky with a grunted “excuse me” on his way out of the bathroom and then Bucky was alone. He got to work. He showered, shaved, got dressed – all of it taking a lot longer than he wanted it to, but there was no accounting for the loss of his arm. His physical therapist had told him that one day he’d be just as dexterous without it, that he might not forget forever, but that there would be moments. He wished that were true now more than ever. 

At 5:30, he was looking at being right on time for his first shift, which didn’t bode well for the request he had for Tony – a payment in advance so he could get a room to sleep at night.

He found one of the last empty lockers and shoved his duffelbag in, pushing a quarter into the lock and taking the key. 

Bucky could see the Starbucks sign out of the corner of his eye while he made the poor decision to check his bank account one last time for the day. He nearly tripped over his own feet as the screen loaded. That couldn’t be right. He pressed on the number and the screen loaded his transaction history.

A thousand dollars had been transferred into his account by THERESA A. BARNES last night. Bucky choked back a cry and pressed his back against the hard brick of the law office building he found himself by. 

Bucky sank to the ground, pressed his knees to his chest, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple notes:  
> 1\. I'm sorry for the delay. I made up for it by posting the longest chapter yet - and a flashback, to boot!
> 
> 2\. This flashback took some time to write because I had to retcon some things that happened in previous chapters. Namely, that Bucky has been working at Starbucks since he moved to New York. All it changed was a sentence or two in Chapter One. I'll let you know if it changes anything else.
> 
> 3\. Bucky attends Long Island University. I don't think I'll ever say so in the story itself, but if you want to know, there you go. He lives on Wykoff Street and there really is a Starbucks a block away from where he lives and one a block away from the university. I don't skimp on research aka Google Maps.
> 
> 4\. 24-hour Starbucks are a thing, but I don't think either of the Starbucks mentioned in this fic are. Artistic license, my friends.
> 
> 5\. There is, non-officially, one more chapter left. Which I haven't even started on. And I'm telling you it'll take a bit because I always have trouble with endings. But it should be up within a week, so hang tight.
> 
> 6\. As always, thank you for your kind words and kudos! They mean the world to me.
> 
> 7\. I'm doing the Steve/Bucky BigBang this year! (Seriously this time.) Stories won't be posted until August, I think? And if you were a part of that comment thread regarding my next fic idea, that's what the BigBang is going to be, so sorry you'll have to wait on that a little longer. In the meantime, I'll probably be writing AU ficlets for [camwolfe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe) and our [Steve/Bucky AU collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StuckyAUs).
> 
> 8\. I'm sometimes on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com).


	26. Chapter 26

“It’s uneven in the back,” Bucky groused, running his hand across the back of his head.

“It is not,” Rebecca snapped. Her voice was far away and muffled from where she was in the living room. Bucky grimaced at his reflection in his bedroom mirror.

Bucky ran his hand back over his hair – what was left of it – and frowned. He had almost forgotten what he looked like with short hair, it had been so long. He wondered what Steve would say when he saw it. It was meant to be a surprise, but what if he hated it? Well, he’d grow it back out again, Bucky reasoned. Still, he had to admit he looked much more put together with it short and combed and gelled stylishly (something he would never be able to achieve again without Rebecca’s help).

“How long’s it take to get dressed?” Rebecca asked. Her voice was closer and Bucky glanced over at his door where he could see through the splintered hole in his door Rebecca’s narrowed eye.

“Quit it!” Bucky snapped, racing to his door and throwing it open. “What if I hadn’t been dressed?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes at him from her chair before rolling back into the living room. “If you didn’t want people snooping, you shouldn’t have a giant hole in your door. How’d you say that happened again?” She turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

“Clint did it,” Bucky lied easily. “Now, would you tell me how I look? Is it bad? You haven’t said anything.”

Rebecca gave him an appraising once-over and said, “You clean up good.”

“Suit’s not too… tight? Or… I don’t know.” Bucky pulled at the collar of his shirt nervously and smoothed the black tie against his chest.

“You look _fine_ , Buck,” Rebecca said. “Christ, you’re worse than a girl.”

Bucky stuck his tongue out at her.

“Very mature,” she said, then stuck her tongue out at him.

Bucky laughed and raised his hand to push his hair back. Rebecca let out a high-pitched shriek and he froze. “What the–?”

“Don’t touch your hair!” she shouted.

“Sorry, it’s a habit,” he said, abashed.

“Yeah, well, un-habit yourself because if I see a hair out of place before the end of the night, I’m gonna smother you in your sleep.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Bucky asked wistfully. Rebecca smoothed her red dress and adjusted the pearl necklace until it sat perfectly.

“You look real nice,” Bucky said.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes at him, looking to see if he was serious. Bucky made sure to keep his expression open and sincere. She _did_ look nice. Her hair was done up all fancy in a way he thought only movie stars could achieve for red carpet events. His sister had apparently spent their years apart learning to do every knot and twist on Pinterest – there was no other explanation for it. It had only been after he’d seen her expertly braid her hair without a mirror that he agreed to let her cut his. It had been a long time coming and she’d been dropping hints roughly once an hour since she’d arrived the day before.

“Steve is gonna love you,” Rebecca said cheerily as she pulled on a thin shawl to cover her shoulders. 

Bucky had to agree. She and Steve had met only briefly the day before and it hadn’t been long enough to really get to know one another, but in the short amount of time they had spoken – a mere ten minutes – they’d already decided to get together and retell the most embarrassing Bucky stories they could remember at a later date. Bucky wasn’t looking forward to that, although Rebecca pointed out Bucky didn’t necessarily have to be in attendance. However, he wasn’t sure if not being there would make it more or less embarrassing. 

A knock sounded from the front door and Bucky went over to answer it. He opened the door and wilted a little. It was Sam and he looked like a damn model – all clean lines and a fitted suit and a million-watt smile. “Hey man,” Sam said cheerfully. His eyes wandered to Bucky’s shoes then back up again. “You look real good.”

“Not as good as you. Shit,” Bucky said.

“If you goggle any longer, we’re going to be late,” Rebecca said from behind Bucky. She nudged him in the hip until he moved over. She extended a hand toward Sam. “I’m Rebecca. Bucky’s sister.”

“Sam,” Sam replied, taking her hand. “Steve mentioned you were visiting. How long are you here for?”

“Just the week,” Rebecca said. “Bucky’s gonna show me the sights.”

Sam stepped out of the way as Rebecca moved into the hallway followed by Bucky who locked the door behind him, patting his pocket to make sure he had his phone and wallet with him. Then he followed the two of them toward the elevator.

“Ever been to the city?” Sam asked.

“No!” Rebecca said excitedly. “This has been a long time coming, believe me. And I’m making Bucky pay for everything, too.”

“Yeah, with all that extra money I got,” Bucky muttered.

Rebecca smacked him playfully on the arm as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. They clambered in. “What time did Steve leave?” Bucky asked.

“Early,” Sam said. “He’s playin’ it off like it’s no big deal, but he’s stressed.”

“He’s gonna do great,” Bucky said. “His final speech for Fury was amazing.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. He came home that night happier than I’d seen him in awhile.”

Bucky coughed and turned his face away, praying neither of them noticed how red he’d just gotten. Steve’s final speech _had_ been amazing and perhaps it was the residual aftereffects of the adrenaline from the speech and the semester being over, but they’d both been a little overexcited and had expended that energy on Bucky’s couch in ways Clint would be none too happy to know about. So Sam wasn’t technically wrong about the theory that Steve’s happiness was due to how well his speech had gone. It was certainly a part of the bigger reason…

“Yo, Earth to brother,” Rebecca said.

Bucky blinked and realized his sister and Sam had stepped off the elevator into the small apartment lobby leaving Bucky daydreaming behind them in the elevator.

  


* * *

  


The Waldorf-Astaria loomed large above them as Bucky, Rebecca, and Sam scrambled out of the cab. While Sam paid the driver, Bucky glanced up and down Park Avenue and remembered why he never liked coming into Manhattan when he could help it. Too many people, too many buildings, too many damn tourists.

“The MetLife building!” Rebecca said excitedly from Bucky’s right as Sam brought around the wheelchair. She sat and continued to stare up at all the huge buildings.

“Yeah, MetLife. You’re really seein’ the sights now, Becks,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Don’t ruin this for me,” Rebecca replied sharply. She led the way toward the front of the building. A doorman held open the door for them and once inside, they were directed down a well-lit and lavishly decorated hallway toward the elevators.

Bucky checked his phone once they were riding up. He’d texted Steve their ETA and quickly sent another text letting him know they’d arrived, but he doubted Steve would be paying attention to his phone. He was supposed to be going through the rehearsal – what order people were presenting awards and who was speaking when and for how long.

Bucky was surprised when as soon as the elevator doors opened, Steve was there. He didn’t notice them at first because he was, in fact, staring down at his phone, but then he looked up and he stared at Bucky wordlessly.

“Hey, Steve,” Sam said easily, holding his arm across the door while Rebecca got out.

Steve’s eyes left Bucky for a brief moment, but he quickly returned his gaze back. 

“Well, we’ll be in the room. I think it’s this way,” Sam said with a knowing smile. He fell into step next to Rebecca as they followed the signs that pointed them toward the ballroom.

Bucky stepped out of the elevator, hand deep in his pocket and wondering not for the first time whether he should have forgone the prosthetic arm.

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” Steve asked. His eyes darted down to Bucky’s shoes and slowly followed the length of his body up. 

Bucky blushed under the intense scrutiny, exacerbated by the fact that for once Steve wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Bucky tilted his head slightly and smirked. “I got no idea who your boyfriend is pal, but I’d be willing to step in for him if you’re lookin’ for a date.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow as Bucky stepped closer. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Your boyfriend sounds like a real shmuck anyway.”

Steve shrugged. “He’s all right, I guess.”

Bucky scowled and Steve laughed loudly.

“Well,” Bucky said, taking a step back, “if I’m just _all right_ , then I guess you can do this all on your own–”

“No, don’t, wait,” Steve pleaded in between gasps of laughter. “I’m sorry. Please come back.”

Bucky finally broke and smiled. “Changed your mind?”

“Sure,” Steve said and he stepped forward so he was toe-to-toe with Bucky. “You look real nice,” he said. He brought a hand up and ran his hand lightly through the shorn side of Bucky’s hair.

“Yeah? Not too weird?”

“Not weird at all. I’m uh,” Steve flushed, “kind of into it.”

Bucky’s smile grew wider. “Yeah?”

Steve’s face hardened. “Well, I never get to see your eyes, you’re always hiding behind all that hair.”

Bucky snorted a laugh. “Sure, sure.” Bucky leaned forward to close the gap, kissing Steve briefly before adding, “You look good too, by the way.”

Steve looked down at himself, smoothing one hand down his front. “Yeah? God, I hate dressing up.”

“After all this over, we can even more fun getting _un_ dressed,” Bucky said and waggled his eyebrows.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You know your sister is visiting, right?”

Bucky’s face fell. “Oh, yeah.”

“It was the thought that counts,” Steve said, patting Bucky on the arm. 

“So,” Bucky said, giving Steve his most sincere look, “how are you?”

Steve let out a breath. “Fine,” he said. Bucky cocked an eyebrow. Steve whimpered and let his forehead fall onto Bucky’s chest. “I’m gonna die,” he said.

Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s back and said, “You’re not gonna die. C’mon, you did so well in class! Just channel whatever chill energies you had then to now.”

“This is different,” Steve mumbled. “This is serious. I’m going to be speaking in front of a lot more people. A lot more _important_ people.”

“I’m trying not to be offended.”

“You know what a mean,” Steve said. He stood straight again and looked at Bucky. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you mess up. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It could be. I could mess up so bad that they take away my award. No one will buy my book. I’ll go bankrupt, have to live on the street, die of exposure.”

“Christ, Stevie,” Bucky said with a laugh. “Fatalistic, much?”

Steve pouted.

“They’re not going to take away your award unless you do something really bad, like confess to being a neo-Nazi or something. Your book is already selling really well if what Sam tells me is true, so you’re not going to go bankrupt. Which, even if you did, you could come live with me and Clint. That’s assuming Sam, for whatever reason, decides to kick you out _and_ let you die of exposure.”

“Ugh,” Steve said.

“Stop worrying so much.”

“If it were that easy, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” Steve snapped, then he sighed, dropped his head into his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. You remember what I told you before you had to do your midterm speech?”

Steve looked up and shook his head.

“About how if you embarrassed yourself I’d –”

“Take off your arm and throw it?” Steve finished.

“Still applies,” Bucky said. “I will throw this thing at students and grown-ass adults with prestigious awards alike.”

“Then we can move to Hawaii?”

“Sure, Hawaii, yeah,” Bucky said. “Wherever you want. Look, Steve, you’re gonna do great.”

The elevator dinged behind them and a group of well-dressed people walked by, chattering loudly. From behind the chatty group stepped Clint wearing a very worn, ill-fitting suit. His hair was a mess and he seemed to realize as he was attempting to flatten it with his hand to no avail.

“Hey guys,” he said. “Thought I was gonna be late. Someone’s sphinx coughed up their glamour so I had to do an emergency – well, anyway, I’m here.”

“Thanks for coming,” Steve said with a smile.

“Yeah, of course!” Clint said. “There’s gonna be food, right?”

“Jesus, Clint,” Bucky said.

“Where’s Nat? She here yet?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Steve said.

“Haven’t seen who?” Natasha’s voice echoed slightly in the spacious hall. Bucky’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She looked _stunning_ in a tight-fitting red gown, her hair done up in soft curls. She smiled waspishly at Bucky.

“Barnes, you look presentable for once in your life,” Natasha noted as she joined them.

Steve elbowed Bucky in the side while laughing softly. “Oh, uh, yeah, thanks. You look, um –”

“Incredible,” Clint finished. Bucky glanced over to see that Clint was likewise enraptured, eyes the size of saucers.

“Oh, I know,” Natasha said easily with a teasing smile. “We’ll see you inside?” She slipped her arm through Clint’s. “And Steve, congratulations, by the way. Thank you for inviting us.”

“Of course,” Steve said.

When they were finally out of earshot, Steve said, “We should head in.” He shot a melancholy look in the direction of the ballroom.

“Hey, you’re gonna do great. And if you crash and burn, I won’t love you any less.”

Steve’s cheeks colored attractively and he nodded. “Let’s do this,” he said.

  


* * *

  


“One of the most common questions I get from readers is, will Cap ever get a sidekick? And I got asked this question so often that I had something of a staple answer: No. No, because the point of Cap was that he was independent, self-sufficient, separate from the government and from any regime. Most importantly, I would say, he didn’t _need_ a sidekick. He was doing just fine on his own, thank you very much.

“But as any artist or writer will tell you, characters tend to take on lives of their own and by the last issue of this project, it occurred to me what Cap had been trying to tell me all along: he wasn’t okay, he needed help, and _that’s okay_.

“I may have created Cap, but he’s still a lot smarter than I am. It took me a lot longer to ask for help. But I’m glad I did and now I’ve got the best group of sidekicks a guy could ask for. 

“I’m humbled by this award. Hell, I’m happy just to be in the same room with so many amazing artists. Six months ago, I would have said I don’t deserve this. But I worked hard and now, without coming off as too arrogant, I’d like to think I earned this. But I couldn’t have done it without my sidekicks. So, thanks.”

  


* * *

  


“Bucky cried,” Clint said matter-of-factly.

“I did _not_ ,” Bucky protested.

“He so did,” Rebecca said.

Steve grinned up at Bucky.

“They’re all liars,” Bucky assured Steve. “However, my allergies may have – you know how they get.”

Steve nodded sagely. “Of course.”

Bucky let his expression of disdain melt into one of adoration. “You did so well.”

“You think so?” Steve asked. His eyes flicked over to the trophy – a shiny model of cartoon-like people spilling out of an ink bottle. 

“You made me cry,” Bucky said in an undertone. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, well, you cry at everything,” Steve said, although Bucky could tell Steve was flattered by the way he ducked his chin down.

Dinner was served not long after the final speech. Bucky wasn’t sure what he was eating and was positive if he knew he wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Everyone else at their table was equally as baffled – all except Clint who, for all Bucky could tell, thought he was eating a slice of pizza from the corner joint down the block.

Their little table was one of 50 or so others and the conversation around Bucky was a soothing hum of noise as he ate and listened to his friends chatter. Steve was describing who a woman at the far corner table was when another woman strode up to their table. She was simple and pretty with dark skin and black hair pulled back in a tight bun. “Mr. Rogers,” she said and Steve turned around to look at her. She offered her hand a polite smile. “My name is Emily Waters, I’m with The Guardian. I’m writing an article on the gala and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions when you’re finished.”

Steve’s mouth stood agape and no sound came out. Bucky cleared his throat. “He’d love to,” he said.

Emily’s eyes found Bucky and she grinned, offering her hand to him. He took it with an equally polite smile. “You must be his publicist?”

“Oh –,” Steve said holding up a hand to stop her, but Bucky cut in, “Something like that.”

“I’d love to talk to you both, if that’s okay. I’m at that table over there. Come talk to me when you finish up here. No rush.” She motioned to a table in the back before smiling again and wandering back to her table.

“You’re not my publicist,” Steve said blankly when she’d gone.

“No, but you need one,” Sam chimed in. “You should see the amount of fanmail this guy gets. I have to get the mail _twice a day_. I’ve definitely gotten dirty looks from our mail lady.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Steve said.

“I am so _not_ exaggerating.”

“An interview with The Guardian,” Steve said. “Shit, that’s…”

“Awesome,” Bucky finished. “That’s a legit news site. You’re gonna get some major exposure.”

“Oh God, what am I going to say?”

Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s shoulder and jostled him. “Quit worryin’ so much, Stevie. This is a good thing.”

Steve seemed to shrink further into his seat. Bucky leaned in to say softly, “I’ll be there, too, okay? I know this has been a lot for you. And if you don’t want to do it at all, then say the word.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I should do it. I can do it.” He nodded, convincing himself it was true.

The conversation around the table picked back up again while they finished eating. Natasha and Rebecca were chatting excitedly while Clint was showing Sam something on his phone. 

“Hey, you know I still haven’t read this masterpiece of yours,” Bucky chided lightly.

Steve blushed, as Bucky knew he would. “You don’t have to read it, you know. It’s not everyone’s thing and I don’t expect –”

“Steve, you’ve been promising to bring me a copy for months now. If I weren’t a broke college student, I’d have already gone out and bought the thing. Which I will do eventually, by the way.”

“When you’re a super rich teacher?”

“Precisely. So, what gives?” 

Steve shrugged and Bucky was sure he was going to change the subject like he always did when the topic of Steve’s work came up. But this time Steve twirled his champagne glass absently and said, “I’m kind of afraid for you to read it.”

Bucky was taken aback. “Afraid?” he repeated, eyebrows raised.

Steve shrugged again, eyes downcast. “Well, it never really mattered to me what other people thought of my work. I did it for me. And it feels really amazing to be recognized for all my hard work in spite of everything. But if you… if you didn’t like it? I would care. I want you to like it.”

“Well, of course I’m gonna like it. Geez, Steve.”

“You don’t know that!” Steve replied fiercely, matching Bucky’s stare. “You don’t know. What if you hate it and think it’s dumb or – or I don’t know. And if you do hate it, you’d lie and say you liked it and that would be _worse_.”

Bucky sighed. “If it’s dumb, I promise I will tell you. But Steve, you just won a really prestigious award for it and I kind of feel like a shitty boyfriend having _never read_ the damn thing you won an award for. Which _you won an award for it_. Who gives a shit what I think? You know I also unironically love the _Star Wars_ prequels.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

“I can read it?”

“Yeah, I’ll bring over a copy tomorrow.”

“No need. Sam brought one over like a week after we started dating. I’ve just been waiting on your permission to read it.”

Steve hit Bucky hard on the shoulder and Bucky laughed.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve said.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” Bucky replied before leaning in and pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple.

  


* * *

  


Bucky had to knock four different times before Steve finally came to the door. Bucky had expected Steve would be tired after having such an eventful day, but the guy was a night owl and it honestly felt like they’d _just_ gotten back from the gala.

Steve was wearing pajamas and a frown. He squinted at Bucky, out of tiredness or his lack of glasses, it was hard to tell. 

Bucky held up the book in his hands. “I just finished it,” he said.

Steve looked at the book. He ran a hand through his hair. “What?”

Bucky sighed in frustration and pushed past Steve into the apartment. He rounded on Steve. “I mean, after you told me I could read it, I decided I’d just get through the first chapter, y’know, so I could tell you what I thought of it so far, but then I couldn’t put it down! Before I knew it, I was finished and I had to come see you. I have so many questions.” Bucky frantically paged through the book, looking for a specific marker. He’d started using the sticky tabs when he realized he was going to have a lot of questions for Steve and now there were a few dozen colorful plastic tabs sticking out of the graphic novel. “Okay, like here,” Bucky said, pushing the book under Steve’s nose. “I mean, the impression is that Cap is this sort of goody-goody, lawful guy who’s never so much as jay-walked, but, I mean, the guy lied a half dozen times in order to get into the army. That’s – I mean, this thing is full of contradictions and I love it. It’s a dichotomy, right? Of how the public sees him versus how he really is. Or commentary on how the media works? And then there’s this –” Bucky flips to another tab, but Steve stops him by placing a hand on the book.

“Buck, do you know what time it is?”

Bucky frowns. “Midnight? Sorry, I know it’s been a long day, but you can’t have been sleeping long –”

“It’s four in the morning,” Steve cut in.

“Oh.” Steve’s pinched expression suddenly made a lot more sense. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. It shocked him every time now, how short it was. “I didn’t know that… I mean, I didn’t check the time I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Steve said. His annoyance slipped quickly into amusement and he sighed. “All right, c’mon.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s elbow and pushed him toward the back of the apartment.

Bucky had been in Steve’s room several times and was always surprised by how clean he kept it. Despite the fact that Steve had clearly been sleeping, the bed hardly looked used.

Bucky was snapped from his reverie when a piece of clothing hit his chest. He caught it and looked down. It was a shirt. Upon closer inspection, an over-sized band tee. He glanced up at Steve in confusion.

“You woke me up at four in the fucking morning. The least you could do is stay with me tonight,” Steve said. He didn’t even blush, which proved just how serious he was.

Bucky looked down at himself and – yeah, okay, he hadn’t changed out of his suit. At least he’d hung up the jacket and taken off the tie, but he was still sporting now-wrinkled dress pants and a button-up shirt. He placed the book on Steve’s nightstand, then he stripped to his boxer briefs while Steve crawled into bed. As he pulled Steve’s shirt over his head, he asked, “Do you actually not own any pants that would fit me or do you just really want me down to my skivvies?”

Steve snorted a laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Bucky climbed into bed and was quick to wrap his arms Steve and pull him close. Chest-to-chest, with Steve’s head tucked under his chin, Bucky could smell Steve’s shampoo. Steve pulled away for a moment to hit the light and in the darkness pulled himself closer to Bucky. Bucky could feel Steve’s soft, even breaths on his collarbone and he finally felt tired.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve huffed out a breath and held Bucky tighter. “It’s fine,” he said.

“But I still have a lot of questions,” Bucky said.

Steve groaned. “Go to sleep.”

“Fine. But you’re answering for yourself in the morning.”

“Fuck you,” Steve said half-heartedly.

“Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” Bucky replied affectionately.

Bucky was close to sleep, about to tip over to the other side when he realized - “Steve,” he said urgently. It took some light prodding to get Steve to wake with a groan.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” Steve mumbled.

“I really liked it. I never told you I liked it. I do. I love it.”

Bucky thought maybe Steve would curse at him again and when there was no reply, figured Steve had just fallen back to sleep. That was fine. He would tell Steve in the morning when he would remember.

But then Steve’s warm hand snaked under Bucky’s shirt and squeezed his side lightly. “Thanks,” he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS DOING SO WELL!! And then [one month later]. But work got crazy busy.
> 
> On the good news side, this epilogue got so long, I'm breaking it up into more chapters. I'm thinking just one more chapter now. But don't hold me to that. ALSO, I'll be turning this into a series so I can write a porn-y thing to go along. I just wanted to keep this particular story to a T rating. Once I make this a series, I'll let you guys know so you can subscribe if you'd like.
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting. Commenters are my favs and you guys are so great to me!!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com) currently freakin' out about the new TV spot with BUCKY AND STEVE WHTA THE FU Ck


	27. Chapter 27

By the time Steve started to stir, Bucky had counted at least fifty urgent questions in regards to Steve’s book. He’d narrowed it down to his top five by the time Steve finally opened his eyes.

“Is there a sequel?” Bucky asked.

Steve let out a long-suffering breath and closed his eyes again. “’m sleepin’,” he mumbled.

“I already checked. There’s not a sequel out right _now_ , but you’re writing one, right? If I were to snoop around your apartment, I’d find drawings of Cap and –”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve said.

Bucky grinned. “So there _are_ rough drafts somewhere?”

“Christ, Bucky.”

“So Cap isn’t dead! Oh, thank God.” Bucky felt his pent-up anxiety melt away at the confirmation.

“I never said that,” Steve said. He turned on his back and rubbed his eyes. “Officially, there is no sequel.”

“But unofficially…”

Steve sighed and let his head drop to the side to look at Bucky. “Unofficially…” He hesitated. “Unofficially, I’ve got, like, three and a half chapters drawn up. One of them is already with my editor.”

Bucky wasn’t ashamed to _squeal_. “So that means he and Maggie are getting together, right? I mean, she’s the only one in the comic who saw him as a person. She gave him a name! Which, I gotta ask – am I just reading into this or is this a deconstruction of the classic superhero story?” Steve stared at him blankly, so Bucky powered on: “I mean, he starts out as this heroic archetype. Here, let me show you.” Bucky turned over to grab the book off the nightstand. He flipped to a purple tab at the very beginning of the graphic novel. “Here he is and he’s in that quintessential pose, y’know? With the cape and all that. And then later,” Bucky flipped forward, “he’s lost the cape, he’s lost the cowl, but he’s still got that pose,” Bucky flipped forward again, “and finally, at the end, he’s lost everything. And he’s got a real name. I mean, it’s brilliant. It’s really brilliant. Y’know, we’re so used to getting how Bruce Wayne became Batman that we forget there was ever a Bruce Wayne in the first place and this time Cap gets –”

Steve surged forward and shut Bucky up with a kiss. 

“You can’t just kiss me every time I want answers, you know,” Bucky said quietly, although he got the message and shut the book.

“It was partly to shut you up, partly because I’m in love with you,” Steve said.

Bucky’s chest filled with a warmth that spread quickly to his face. They’d said “I love you” a few times, but _in_ love had whole new connotations. 

“Oh,” Bucky said.

Steve turned over to look at the time. “9:30,” he said. “Aren’t you leaving at–?”

“Ten,” Bucky finished. “Shit.” He hopped out of bed and quickly grabbed his pants. He’d nearly forgotten he’d promised to take Rebecca sightseeing in the morning. He didn’t have his phone with him so she was either dead furious or terrified that he’d been kidnapped. Neither bode well for his morning.

“I’ll answer some of your questions at dinner,” Steve said. He was sitting up in bed, arms crossed over his knees as he watched Bucky scramble for his clothes.

“You’ll answer a lot more than _some_ if you don’t want to start getting some very angry fanmail,” Bucky said.

Steve laughed lightly. “I look forward to it.”

Bucky swung the clothes over his shoulder, kneeled on the bed, and kissed Steve quickly on the mouth. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

Bucky headed out of Steve’s room and was trying to decide whether he should put on pants just to walk down a couple flights of stairs when someone cleared their throat. Bucky looked up and blanched.

“Becca, what are you–?”

Rebecca and Sam were both sitting on the living room couch, Sam smiling like he’d just won the lottery while Rebecca scowled at Bucky.

“We’re going to be _late_ ,” she said.

“What? No we’re not! I’m ready!” Bucky protested.

Rebecca continued to glare.

“Buck, who’re you talking to – oh, hi Rebecca.” Steve came to a standstill next to Bucky. He crossed his arms self-consciously. Bucky sent a silent prayer that they weren’t naked.

“I’m real happy you’re happy, but if you think we’re going to be late just because you wanted to get your rocks off – ”

Steve made a noise between a choke and a cough and Bucky was sure, even without looking, that he was bright red.

“ – then you’ve got another thing coming, my brother,” Rebecca finished.

“Okay, first of all, that is _not_ what happened,” Bucky replied as he hastily stepped into his pants.

Rebecca guffawed, clearly not believing a word that came out of Bucky’s mouth. Granted, he had just stumbled out of Steve’s room in a state of undress, but that’s beside the point. 

“And if you give me five minutes to shower, we can go,” Bucky concluded. “Now, let’s _go_.” He motioned dramatically toward the door. Rebecca rolled her eyes but maneuvered herself up with her two forearm crutches and toward the door. 

“I will see you tonight,” Bucky said, turning to Steve one last time.

Steve simply nodded, one hand hiding half of his beet-red face. Sam was quick to throw an overenthusiastic thumbs-up to Bucky before they left.

“Thank you,” Bucky said once the apartment door was closed and they were in front of the elevator, “for thoroughly embarrassing my boyfriend.”

“Well your _boyfriend_ should know better than to keep you late when your _sister_ has things to do,” Rebecca pointed out haughtily.

  


* * *

  


“How far are we from Rockefeller Center?” Rebecca asked. Bucky glanced over to see she was staring up at the skyscrapers, still thoroughly impressed with the claustrophobic heights of the city.

Bucky tensed as a loud, Eastern European family jostled his right side as they passed, arguing loudly in what sounded like Polish. “Uh, not far,” he said, stepping closer to Rebecca. 

Times Square was a nightmare. It was the middle of the week – where were these people even from? Bucky hunched his shoulders and tried to look imposing. If one more tourist knocked into him, he might very well snap.

“Oh, look at that!” Rebecca said, pointing at a giant billboard.

Bucky wanted to tell her that there wasn’t anything remotely interesting about another bright, oversized billboard, but he stopped himself. Rebecca was clearly enjoying herself; he wouldn’t ruin that.

“Can we go see a show?” Rebecca asked, turning to him. The way her eyebrows pinched together and her eyes quickly flicked away told Bucky that she’d been wanting to ask that for awhile.

“Oh, um,” Bucky said.

“It’s fine if we can’t,” Rebecca cut in. “I know it’s expensive. And lots of people will be there…” She turned her face away toward the street, hiding some expression – probably disappointment.

Bucky sighed. “I was going to say that we should go over to the TKTS booth. They sell at reduced prices for shows going on today. Won’t be great seats or anything–”

“No, that’s perfect! Can we?” she asked excitedly.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin at her look of excitement. “Yeah, of course. C’mon, it’s this way.”

Bucky had come into the city just once before – and that had been enough even then – when Darcy had learned he’d lived in New York for five years and hadn’t left Long Island in all that time. She had forced him to do all the things he was now doing with Rebecca – Times Square, a show, shopping, a museum or two, and Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty if they had time. 

The TKTS booth, like the rest of the godforsaken city, was crowded. It took them nearly 15 minutes to make it to the front, by which time Rebecca had narrowed down the available shows to five possibilities – depending on the best seats they could get.

She’d forgone the wheelchair for her forearm crutches, so she leaned against the counter and discussed their options with the booth attendant while Bucky stood by feeling useless and anxious. A dark theatre might not be a bad idea, all things considered.

Rebecca emerged victorious, holding two tickets for a show called _Hamilton_.

“What, are you a history nerd now?” Bucky asked.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Shows how much _you_ pay attention. This show is supposed to be amazing! And it starts in half an hour. Should we start walking?”

Bucky glanced over to the street where cab after cab rolled past. “You sure you wanna walk? The theatre might be – Ow! What was that for?” Bucky stumbled back after Rebecca hit him on back of his leg with one of her crutches.

“You know what that was for!”

“I do not!”

“Don’t coddle me, asshole! I’m fine. And we’re walking.” It was decidedly the end of that conversation as Rebecca walked off.

Bucky tutted and ran after her, grabbing her arm. “The theatre is the other way, genius,” he said.

“I knew that,” Rebecca said defensively.

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t say another word about it. Turned out the theatre was barely a block from the TKTS booth and they were able to find their seats with plenty of time to kill. Rebecca was paging through the playbill when Bucky finally got up the courage to ask, “So, it doesn’t hurt to walk any?”

He immediately blushed and thanked God for the poor lighting.

Rebecca put the playbill in her lap and looked over at him. “No, it doesn’t hurt. I can get weak if I walk too much.” She shrugged a shoulder. “But my PT said I should be using these as often as I can to build up my strength. The only time it hurts is if I use ‘em for a long time. Sometimes I get blisters on my hands.” She looked down at her hands, but there was nothing yet. She turned back to smile at Bucky. “I’ll let you know if I need a break, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said.

“And I expect the same from you.”

“What?” Bucky frowned at her.

“I could tell you were uncomfortable with all those people on the street. I need you to say something if you have to get out of a situation.”

Bucky withered. Had he really been that obvious? He hadn’t wanted Rebecca to feel bad for him while she was trying to enjoy herself.

“Bucky?” she said with a warning in her voice.

“Yeah, all right,” Bucky muttered. 

“That’s a good boy,” she said patronizingly and ruffled the back of his head with a light laugh.

Bucky had so many more questions and sitting in that theatre with low lights and the hushed murmurs of an increasing crowd, no time might be better. “Do you–?” he started, but was interrupted by a couple who apologized as they scooted past them to get to their seats.

Perhaps it was the for the better. All that heavy talk might not be good to stew in right before a three-hour show. He decided to shut his mouth.

Rebecca had other ideas. “Do I what?”

Bucky shook his head and looked down at his playbill for a distraction. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

He could feel Rebecca’s eyes on his face. He tried to school his expression into something benign. Finally, Rebecca looked back to her playbill and Bucky relaxed.

“I still don’t blame you, if that’s what you were going to ask,” Rebecca said after a beat of silence. “Is that what you were going to ask?”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out, because the fact of the matter was, that’s _exactly_ what he was going to ask. He had spent so long partially blaming himself for her perceived disability that now that she was here and real, it all hit a little closer to home. The facts were, he’d been driving the car, he’d swerved into that tree. Another voice that sounded an awful lot like his hospital-assigned trauma therapist reminded him that the _other_ driver had been distracted, had swerved into their lane, and had given Bucky no choice but to hit that tree. 

_Maybe you saved her life,_ the annoyingly patronizing voice said.

“First thing I did when I came-to was ask if you were okay,” Rebecca said. She stared straight ahead at the stage and the massive, velvet curtain. “Dad said you were fine, but didn’t say much more than that. Mom finally told me about your arm when she and I were alone. That was three weeks later. Dad barely ever left my room. I was in and out of surgery – I don’t even know how many I had. I begged to see you because I knew you were still at the hospital and it didn’t make sense that you hadn’t come to see me yet. I thought maybe you were really hurt and Mom and Dad had been lying to me about you.

“I was transferred to Indianapolis to start physical therapy. And Mom told me you’d gone off to school. It had been months and you’d just left. That’s when I realized maybe… something else had happened. I didn’t… I couldn’t remember much from that night, y’know. I was so drunk and I–” Rebecca’s voice wavered and she shook her head. “I thought maybe I’d done something. Maybe this had been my fault. Had I grabbed the wheel on accident or done something to distract you? God, I was terrified. I thought you hated me.

“But then my friend came to visit – first people I got to see besides Mom and Dad in a long time – and she’d brought my laptop and my phone. I was so scared, but I had to know. I read the report on the local news site. A woman had been texting. She’d admitted to it and everything. So I thought, well then why were you avoiding me?

“I had my phone. I called you. I had asked to call you on the hospital phone before, but Dad had refused to tell me the extension number to call out of the hospital. He said it wasn’t necessary – who was I going to call? And he wouldn’t talk about you. He’d get all quiet and resigned when I asked about you. God, I’m such an idiot for not realizing…”

“Hey, none of this is your fault,” Bucky said.

Rebecca glanced over at him and shrugged. “I should’ve known that Dad was acting weird about you, though. Anyway, I called you from my cell and your number had been disconnected.”

“Shit,” Bucky said. “I changed it. I’m sorry. Mom kept calling and I – I’m so sorry, Becca.”

Rebecca waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter. I took it as a sign that you wanted to be left alone. I thought… I thought you blamed me. Because you wouldn’t have been driving at all if I hadn’t gone to that fucking party, if I hadn’t gotten drunk, if you hadn’t covered for me.”

Bucky pulled her into a one-armed hug, awkward given their positions, and she pressed her face against his chest as she shook. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“I never blamed you, Becca. Never.”

She shook her head against him slightly, but he just held onto her harder. After a few minutes, she leaned away and wiped her eyes. It took another minute of quiet breathing before she said, “It wasn’t until Dad went missing that Mom told me what really happened. Or some of it, anyway. Because she had turned on that app to track Dad’s phone and he was in Brooklyn by the time we realized he wasn’t just late coming home from work. And Mom said maybe he was finally making up with James. And I think she realized she’d slipped up, but it was too late. She explained that Dad blamed you for the accident, hadn’t ever really gotten over it, and that’s why you disappeared.

“Buck, if I’d known that was why, I would have gone with you in a second,” Rebecca said vehemently.

Bucky shook his head, but couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “It wouldn’t’ve worked. I could barely take care of myself.”

Rebecca shot him a disparaging look, but then the lights dimmed and the theatre grew quiet.

  


* * *

  


“Sam is gonna kill me,” Bucky said, tapping his foot nervously on the sticky floor of the cab as it slowly made its way across the Brooklyn bridge.

“For the millionth time, Sam won’t kill you. We’re not even going to be late. We still have ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes in this!” Bucky gestured emphatically at the slow-moving traffic.

They made it to the restaurant right at five o’clock and were immediately ushered to a huge banquet-sized table that took up most of the front room. The Howling Commandos had foot the bill and it looked as though they’d bought out the whole restaurant for the night. It couldn’t have been cheap, either, judging by the tasteful décor. 

“You’re here!” Sam announced, standing up from the table. Clint, Natasha, Thor, Jane, Darcy, and Kate were already seated and there were at least ten other empty seats.

“Yeah, sorry we’re late,” Bucky said, pulling out a chair for Rebecca. “Guess Steve isn’t here yet.”

“Should be soon,” Sam said.

As if on cue, the door opened and in stepped Steve. He froze in the middle of adjusting his glasses. “What’s this?” 

“Surprise!” Thor exclaimed brightly.

Steve huffed and smiled wide. “Yeah. Hey, everybody,” he said, coming over, taking the seat next to Bucky. “What’s all this?” He gestured to the empty seats before turning to Bucky. “Thought it was just you, me, and Becca tonight.”

Bucky grinned and shrugged. “You have a lot of friends who want to congratulate you on your recent fame,” Bucky said. “Thought we’d make it a surprise.”

“I would just like to say,” Sam said, leaning toward Steve across the table, “that I had to convince half these bozos that you really _really_ wouldn’t appreciate a real surprise party – hiding in the shadows, jumping out.”

“God, no,” Steve said. “I would be out that door so fast.”

The door to the restaurant opened and a cacophony of raised voices flooded the room as Peggy, Angie, Howard, Jacques, Morita, Gabe, and Monty entered. It was difficult to figure out what exactly they were arguing about, but it didn’t matter much since as soon as they saw Steve, they all shouted various forms of congratulations. Steve couldn’t stop laughing.

The Howling Commandos fell right back into whatever argument they’d been having – something knitting-related, Bucky realized, as he definitely heard something about the size of needles – and they took their seats around the table.

A waiter appeared from the back to take drink orders. 

“I can’t believe this. Did you plan this?” Steve asked, turning back toward Bucky.

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “It was a joint effort. You’re not disappointed are you?” he added in a quiet voice. “I know surprises aren’t your thing.”

Steve shook his head with a grin. “No, it’s fine. It’s great. I can’t believe you convinced everyone to come.”

“Oh, this isn’t everyone,” Sam chimed in with a mischievous grin.

“It’s called _fashionably late_ ,” someone intoned from behind them. Bucky turned to find Tony, of all people, pushing a pair of sunglasses into his hair. On his arm was a pretty strawberry blonde woman with bright eyes and standing slightly behind him was a man with salt-and-pepper curls who Bucky thought looked vaguely familiar, although he couldn’t place him.

“Tony,” Bucky said in surprise.

“Barnes!” Tony greeted in an overexcited tone.

“What’re you–?” Bucky started to ask, but was interrupted by Howard: “Tony, quit botherin’ everyone and come sit down.”

Tony seemed to wither a little at the command, so Bucky quickly said, “Um, Tony, this is Steve. Steve, this is Tony. My boss.”

“Oh, Howard’s son,” Steve said, then stretched out a hand. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Tony took his hand. “Pleasure. Listen, I heard this was a _celebration_. And there aren’t even any drinks out yet.” Tony caught the eye of the waiter and darted over, already spouting a long list of alcoholic drinks.

“Sorry, he’s a bit – well, there’s no excuse, actually,” the woman said, watching Tony with fond eyes. “I’m Pepper. His wife. I hope we’re not intruding. Howard had said it was okay…”

“Oh, um, no, it’s fine,” Steve said awkwardly. “The more the merrier.”

“And this is Bruce Banner, by the way,” Pepper said, turning to the man behind her who had been eyeing the door since he’d stepped inside. “Tony more or less coerced him here,” she added in an undertone and a waspish grin.

“Bruce Banner,” Steve repeated, a mystified look crossing his face.

“Bruce?” Natasha called out, having finally looked up from an intense and whispered conversation with Kate.

“Nat,” Bruce said in surprise.

“You wrote the –,” Steve started before catching Natasha’s eye and stopping abruptly. “I mean, I read your work. Really, um, informative,” Steve finished lamely.

Bruce quirked a smile. “Glad you enjoyed. I’m a fan of yours, as well,” he added.

It finally clicked. Bruce Banner. He’d written the history of witchcraft book at Natasha’s house. That didn’t explain why he _looked_ familiar, until Bucky remembered. 

“Wait, weren’t you at Starbucks when Tony bullied me into my job?” Bucky asked.

Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible. I used to spend a lot of my time there writing the, uh, aforementioned book.”

“Brucey and I have been working on a little pet project, haven’t we?” Tony had reappeared holding a glass of what looked like whiskey. “We’d like to talk to you about it,” Tony added, looking at Bucky.

Bucky frowned. “Me?”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but Sam said, “All right, all right, everyone take your seats,” and Tony, Bruce, and Pepper wandered to the other end of the table. While they had been talking, the waitstaff had been busy and everyone had a glass chute of champagne. Sam stood and raised his glass. “To our most talented friend, colleague, acquaintance, _boyfriend_ ,” there were a series of catcalls and wolf-whistles from the table – the loudest from Angie, effectively turning Steve bright red, “on his success and, hopefully, his _continued_ success!” Sam raised his glass and everyone else followed suit, clinking glasses and drinking.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about all the questions I have for you,” Bucky said as the group picked up their amiable chattering again. 

Steve rolled his eyes, but looked pleased all the same.

The evening passed into night in what felt like no time at all, helped along by Tony who kept the metaphorical tap open for any and all takers. They enjoyed a very fancy, unpronounceable, but delicious dinner and while Steve entertained the Howling Commandos, Natasha, Clint and Kate answered Sam’s myriad of supernatural-related questions in poorly disguised, drunken whispers. Rebecca and Darcy were swapping embarrassing Bucky stories, making Thor and Jane laugh while Bucky glared at them contemptuously, when Tony slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Got a minute, Barnes?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He shot Steve a brief look before following Tony into the side dining room. Bruce was close behind, hands in his pockets, looking slightly abashed. “Everything… all right?” Bucky asked nervously.

Tony had pulled out his phone and was swiping quickly through something. “Everything’s peachy – ‘bout to be peachier if I can find this stupid– Here it is!” Tony held out the phone – which more like a small tablet – and Bucky took it from him. On the screen was what looked like a very complicated, shiny, metal contraption, not unlike any number of weird machines Tony kept in his office at Starbucks.

“What am I looking at?” Bucky asked, looking up at Tony.

Tony huffed in irritation. “It’s a – let me see that – it’s a prototype, obviously. We need a human subject to – well, that’s where you come in.” Tony snatched the phone back to swipe through it again.

“You want to experiment on me?”

“On you?” Tony repeated, then glanced at Bruce.

“Uh, not _on_ you,” Bruce said. “With you.”

“Yeah! With you!” Tony agreed cheerily.

“I’m… missing something,” Bucky said.

“Here,” Tony said and handed back the phone. “Should’ve started with something easy to understand. Simple pictures for the simple mind.”

Trying not to be completely offended, Bucky looked back at the phone. Now the screen showed a sketched mock-up of what was unmistakably a metal arm. Without asking, Bucky swiped his thumb across the screen and another sketch appeared, this time of the same metal arm, but broken down into sections, labeled meticulously, with several calculations written off to the side, the text too small to read on the device.

“What is… I don’t understand,” Bucky said slowly.

“Remember when I told you I didn’t hire you because of your arm? Or well, your lack of one,” Tony said.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, glancing up.

“I lied.”

“You lied.”

“Well, I mean, not _totally_. I didn’t hire you because I was completely selfless or anything so… nice.” Tony made a face at the word. “God, no. I was being one hundred percent totally, completely selfish.”

“O… kay?”

“What Tony is attempting to say is that we’ve – that is, he and I have been working on this project for quite awhile,” Bruce said, looking as nervous as Bucky was confused, “and we knew we’d need someone who we could, well, test our product on. And they would have to trust us. Or at least know who we are. After all, no one in their right mind would–”

Tony cleared his throat loudly and Bruce paused. “I mean,” Bruce continued, “it’s just, this isn’t sanctioned by any group so it doesn’t exactly have, well, _regulations_.”

“It’s not illegal,” Tony said with a grin. “Well, not totally. Probably not…” He trailed off thoughtfully.

It was quiet for a long time, then Bucky said, “What is this?”

Tony made a noise of disapproval. “Well, obviously it’s an arm–”

“What Tony means to say,” Bruce cut in, “is that it’s a biomechanical arm. It’s designed for amputees. It’s a hypersensitive prosthesis that reacts to every slight movement and reaction sent by the brain to the missing limb. In essence, the most advanced prosthesis that doesn’t, technically, exist yet.”

“We need someone to test it on. And we want you to be our guinea pig,” Tony said.

“Obviously there’s some risk involved, but never anything invasive and you can opt out at anytime,” Bruce added.

“Why?” Bucky asked.

“Long-term, this could be a huge step toward helping veterans and other amputees and people born with missing limbs, that sort of thing. Short-term, I think Tony has a soft-spot for you and just wants to help.”

“Lies,” Tony said flatly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow but Tony had suddenly become very interested in the ceiling.

“Right. And I would get to… to keep…?” Bucky trailed off, not wanting to hope.

“We’d want you to use it every day if you could,” Bruce said. “Come in once a week at least for adjustments.”

“I could bring testing equipment to my office,” Tony said more to himself than Bruce or Bucky. “And you’d be right there at work so timing wouldn’t be an issue.” Tony was practically bouncing with excitement as he looked at Bucky for a response.

Bucky, for his part, didn’t feel much of anything. He knew he should be excited for the opportunity to help people like him. More to the point, he should be excited to get the use of his arm back again. Ever since Buchanan had been exorcised from the sword, it had left Bucky feeling like he’d lost his arm all over again. He was useless, helpless, disabled again. And now he was being handed an even better option on a silver platter and it all felt a little too good to be true.

“Can I… think about it?” Bucky asked quietly, looking down at his shoes.

“Of course,” Bruce said quickly, probably not wanting Tony to jump in with something rude. “Take all the time you need.”

A business card appeared under Bucky’s nose and he took it. It had both Tony’s and Bruce’s information listed below the Stark Industries logo. They left Bucky alone with his thoughts. He stared down at the card and willed himself to be excited, or at least cautiously optimistic, but he couldn’t seem to do it. 

He startled when he felt a hand press between his shoulder blades, then relaxed when he looked over to find Steve.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky laughed humorlessly. “Yeah.” He pocketed the card.

“What did Bruce and Tony want?”

Bucky ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. “Nothing.”

  


* * *

  


“Took you long enough. I texted you ten minutes ago.” Bucky stepped back to allow Steve entrance into his apartment.

Steve clicked his tongue disdainfully and said, “I was working. I’m not actually at your beck and call, y’know.” He sat on the couch and Bucky quickly followed suit pulling one leg up to rest on Steve’s, reveling in the domesticity of it all for a moment before saying, “Work, huh?”

Steve sighed, but couldn’t help the smile that pulled across his face. “Is that why you needed to have a conversation at,” he checked the time on his phone, “eleven at night?”

Bucky withered. “No,” he admitted tiredly.

Steve placed a warm, solid hand on Bucky’s leg, curling his fingers around and squeezing lightly. “Everything all right? You and Becca had fun today, right?”

Bucky looked at Steve and smiled softly. “Yeah, of course. Christ, I just don’t get the appeal of tourist traps. Like, the Statue of Liberty is great and all, but you gotta be near all these people. Ellis Island was a nightmare.”

“Must’ve been stressful,” Steve said with a sympathetic look. Bucky wrinkled his nose at the comment and Steve laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “You live with Sam long enough, you start to pick up therapy talk.” Steve smiled ruefully and said, “You look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky said.

“Sorry, I meant _you look super hot_ and exhausted.”

“Better.” 

“Forgot to stroke that massive ego first,” Steve quipped. “I’m guessing Becca’s asleep?”

Bucky stuck his thumb at his bedroom door where Becca had been sleeping the past couple days she’d been visiting, Bucky electing to take the couch. Clint had been spending more and more time at Natasha’s lately and, true to form, he wasn’t home yet.

Bucky rubbed his eyes and then let his hand drop into his lap. “I just… wanted to talk to you. To run something by you, I mean.”

Steve gave him a dubious look. “Is this about what Tony and Bruce talked to you about?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, how’d you guess that?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s been bothering me.” He quickly waved a hand in front of Bucky. “But I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said affectionately. Steve still pursed his lips in annoyance. “They offered me something. Something big. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Basically nonstop, but I don’t know.”

“What? Like a job or something?”

“Like… an arm. A prosthesis, I mean. It looked really… complex. I don’t know. They talked a little bit about how it worked and it all just seems…” Bucky sighed.

“Too good to be true?” Steve ventured and Bucky shrugged a shoulder in reply. After a moment of silence, Steve said, “I’m not gonna pretend to know what it’s like, but…” Steve shifted slightly, but never relented his comforting grip on Bucky’s leg. “I’m struggling to see the downside here. If it is true, I mean. Which it seems like it is.”

Bucky had wondered the same thing himself. Why the hesitation? He was being offered the opportunity of a lifetime. More than that, he was now capable of helping people with disabilities like his. Why, then, was he absolutely terrified to say yes?

“I know it was hard after Buchanan left,” Steve said. His voice was quiet, but carried in the silence of the apartment. “Is that why? You’re afraid it’s going to be taken away from you again?”

And there it was. It was as if Steve had cut something loose inside Bucky’s chest and a great sense of relief flooded him, followed immediately by panic. Bucky forced himself to nod sharply while he tried to calm his breathing. “I can’t,” he breathed. “I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s thumb traced circles against the thick fabric of Bucky’s jeans, grounding him in the moment. After a few, long moments, Bucky looked at Steve again. 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Steve said, “but I think you know this isn’t like before. With Buchanan, that was… supernatural. It was always a finicky thing. But this is real, Buck.” Steve smiled and it reached his tired eyes. “And if Tony or Bruce backs out of their promise to let you keep the thing, then I’ll kill them myself.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Thanks, pal.”

“No matter what your decision, I’m behind you 100 percent,” Steve said with a bit more levity. 

Bucky ducked his chin and flicked his eyes up at Steve. “Oh, are you?” he asked with a smirk.

Steve pinched his leg, causing Bucky to yelp. Steve shushed him, but couldn’t help laughing at the same time. “You’re an idiot,” he said with a grin.

Bucky closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Steve’s. He pulled back and said, “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

  


* * *

  


****

**One Year Later**

“My final is in _two hours_ ,” Bucky groused. “Can we please make this quick?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we _exorcising lost souls_ too slow for you, Barnes?” Natasha asked in faux-politeness. “I don’t see you doing much better.”

“Hey, fuck you, lady!” Bucky snapped. He watched with practiced eye as a man in a shabby business suit ran toward him, arms outstretched as if he were going to strangle Bucky with his bare hands. Bucky tightened his grip on the sword and swung, putting all his weight behind the thrust. The metal cut through the man like butter and subsequently propelled the sword, and Bucky with it, back four or five feet. With quite a few months’ practice, Bucky had finally learned how to stay on his feet.

The man crumpled to the floor. He would awake soon enough. Clint rushed over to drag him away from the throng of possessed foes massing toward Natasha. Natasha, for her part, was uttering in Latin, some spell that drew possessed souls near. Steve circled her, masterfully knocking down anyone that got too close. The possessed people seemed to realize something wasn’t quite right and were trying not to get too close to Natasha, but the spell drew them in regardless.

Bucky fought his way toward Natasha. There were only ten or so people left and Bucky felt the initial exhilaration of the fight wearing off. The exertion was putting severe pressure on his shoulder where the prosthetic arm gleamed malevolently and he adjusted his grip. Just a few more…

“Buck, look out!” Steve’s shout alerted Bucky to a presence behind him, and he was able to duck out of the way as Steve’s shield went flying over his head, hitting its target with scary accuracy.

Bucky picked up the abandoned shield and was able to shoulder his way past a few more bodies to toss it back to Steve. “Nice throw,” Bucky said. 

Steve didn’t smile, but he shifted his stance and squared his shoulders, ready for the next fight. A few minutes later, the three of them (and Clint working clean up) managed to subdue and exorcise the rest of their attackers. Bucky rolled his shoulder back and cracked his neck.

“Shoulder still bothering you?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged, and then withered a little at the determined look on Steve’s face. “Yeah, kinda,” Bucky relented.

“Talk to Tony about it,” Steve said for about the millionth time since it had first started bothering Bucky nearly a month ago.

“I’ll talk to him at our next appointment,” Bucky replied easily.

“Which is in four months. I’ll call him for you, Buck, I swear I will.”

“What are you, my mom?”

“I will be if you don’t start taking care of yourself!”

“You’re on speaker, sir.” Clint’s voice broke through their argument pointedly. He held out his phone as the group gathered around.

“How’d it go?” Fury’s voice sounded distant and tinny, but still just as commanding as Bucky remembered it.

“Fine. No casualties. Looks like these guys had been left behind from Pierce’s stint, just like the last four places. Didn’t have any weapons,” Natasha replied.

“Good. Ambulances are on their way to you now so you should get going before they arrive,” Fury said. 

“So is this it?” Steve asked. “Is this the last of ‘em?”

Fury’s sigh made the phone static briefly. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“This better not take long, I have _finals_ ,” Bucky hissed. Steve elbowed him in the ribs.

“There are rumors. Some of my contacts in the underground mention a particularly nasty spirit. Haven’t gotten much of a description but…” Fury paused and Bucky felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in sick anticipation. “It sounds like Pierce.”

Everyone froze, no one quite ready to believe what they’d just heard. “Pierce?” Steve finally broke the silence. “You mean, he’s back?”

“That does seem to be the case, yes,” Fury said. “I’ll fill you in on the details later. But it looks like your jobs are far from over.”

The phone screen blinked and the call ended. Clint pocketed the phone and the group looked at one another, shocked and disheartened. 

“You have a final,” Steve said quietly, grabbing Bucky’s arm.

“Doesn’t seem all that important now,” Bucky mumbled, although he allowed himself to be led toward the exit of the abandoned warehouse. The plates in his left arm calibrated as he hefted the sword behind him. 

Steve sighed and stopped when they were far enough away from Natasha and Clint, who were talking in lowered voices. “You know you don’t have to do this, Buck. No one’s asking you to–”

“Not this again. Steve, I swear I’m fine. I’m just… nervous. Pierce is back? And someone _is_ asking me to fight evil, by the way. He’s super big and he’s got an eyepatch and could kill you with a look.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “You know what I mean. You should be focusing on school. You’re almost finished and I don’t want this to get in the way of your career.”

“This being… saving the world? Big picture, Steve.” Bucky sighed at the worried look on Steve’s face. He threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders and jostled him. “I’m fine, Steve, promise. Besides, I got you on my team. What could go wrong?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but looked momentarily appeased. “I can handle this on my own, you know. I don’t need–”

Bucky shut him up with a kiss. Steve made an annoyed little noise in the back of his throat at the interruption, but returned the kiss anyway. 

Bucky pulled back and said, “I know you can handle this on your own, but you don’t have to.” He brought his hand up to lightly grip Steve’s chin. “Now, let’s kick some ghostly ass.”

“First your final, though,” Steve pointed out as they made toward the exit.

Bucky groaned. “I wish a spirit would possess me and take it _for_ me.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky grinned and grabbed Steve’s hand. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OOOOOVER!!! I sincerely apologize for the slow updates on these last two chapters. I was doing SO WELL but then I got slammed at work. Just a couple quick things before my notes:
> 
> 1\. Thank you everyone who read this, especially those who commented. You guys are so amazing and I read and love every single one of 'em. I'm gonna print 'em out and make 'em into a blanket and SLEEP FOR DAYS.
> 
> 2\. I'm going to write an explicit chapter, but since I want to keep this one rated T, I made this a series. So, if you don't want to subscribe to me as an author, you can [subscribe to the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/416412) so you'll know when I post that chapter!
> 
> 3\. I'm going to be writing a fic for the [Steve/Bucky BigBang](http://thestuckylibrary.tumblr.com/tagged/stuckybigbang2016) (which you should all participate in - they're still taking authors, artists, and folks who make graphics, playlists, etc.) so keep a lookout for that! I'm really excited about it.
> 
> -
> 
> NOTES:
> 
> 1\. Bucky attends Long Island University. He lives on Wykoff Street in Brooklyn.  
> 2\. The Howling Commando knitting club was originally a ruse to see if Steve would be good enough to take up the literal sword after Dum-Dum passed away. It eventually devolved into a very real knitting club.  
> 3\. If this were ever a series, you bet your ass Sam would join their supernatural crime-fighting ranks.  
> 4\. I'm going to see Hamilton in July and I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!!! Even if I, too, find Times Square a bit much.  
> 5\. You cannot get Hamilton tickets from the TKTS booth, although it is an incredible thing. Hamilton is just #2popular for it.  
> 6\. Steve's graphic novel is exactly what Bucky described it as - a deconstruction of the quintessential superhero where we start out knowing all about the superhero before he becomes just a man. There is totally going to be a cameo by a character called The Winter Soldier in the second volume.
> 
> -
> 
> As always, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com), bored and crying about Bucky probably.


End file.
